Rewind Shuffle Replay
by Cloud Forest
Summary: This story is a series rewrite, starting from Welcome to the Hellmouth. It is built on the simple question of, how would things have gone if Buffy had met a different ensouled vampire on her way to the Bronze that night?
1. Welcome to the Hellmouth

Author's Notes:

**A/N #1:** Let me start off by saying that this fic began as something that I wrote solely for my own entertainment. The idea of 'what if it had been Spike who Buffy met in Season 1 instead of Angel' came to me one night, and I decided to just start writing. Then I decided heck, why not share it in case other people might be entertained, too?

**A couple of things you'll need to know about this fic before beginning:**  
>-Yes, so far in a lot of places I have just taken Angel out of the episode and stuck Spike into his place. That said, Angel and Spike are of course different people, so this is not just a series rewrite with Spike speaking Angel's dialogue. That would be friggin' boring. Though the differences in some places right now are only subtle, I can promise that as the story progresses, it will begin to veer from canon more and more.<br>-A certain amount of episodic knowledge is assumed. There will be some explanation as a quick refresher for those who haven't seen these episodes in a while, but not much.  
>-There will be significant portions of BtVS dialogue contained in many of these chapters. I have been diligent in my attempts to identify any and all of them. That said, if you notice that I have overlooked anything, please let me know so I can add it to the AN. I hate plagiarism just as much as you do, and wish it would die a fiery, gruesome death.  
>Okay, I think that's it. Basically, I just wanted to say that this story, although I am taking the writing of it very seriously, is mainly just being written for the fun of it. So, I hope you enjoy it too.<br>**A/N #2:** Some dialogue (or in other cases, the spirit of it) has been lovingly lifted from Season 1, 'Welcome to the Hellmouth'.

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><p>One of the worst things about being called as the Slayer, Buffy decided, was that the tingly feeling on the back of her neck? Meant that she was <em>actually<em> being followed. Most likely by something that wanted to kill her.

Oh, to be able to go back to the days where walking alone at night just put her at risk of a good old-fashioned mugging.

Still, when she stopped and turned, she found nothing out of place. Not that she knew this street, or the neighbourhood, well enough yet to make a judgement of what counted as 'in place' versus out of it, but… everything was quiet. Serene. There was a man two driveways down on the other side of the street watering his garden. He saw her staring, and waved.

Ignoring him, she turned and continued on, punching the pavement just a little bit harder with every step of her heels.

_|#|+-+-+|#|_

All right, this was starting to get annoying. Whoever, or _whatever_ it was that had been trailing her a few blocks back was _still there_. Allowing her just enough distance that the presence tumbled off the edge of her consciousness every minute or two.

But then it would scrabble up and over the edge of her mental cliff. Jump back up onto solid ground, dust itself off, and just keep _poking her_.

Either her stalker was kind of new at the profession, or they were messing with her.

Which, really? Not something she appreciated. Buffy Anne Summers was born and raised to be the mess-_er_, not the mess-_ee_.

Luckily the town she'd just landed in was small enough that from her current location, she could turn down just about any side street or alleyway and still reach her destination without much of a detour. That, and being the Slayer, she could pretty much _take_ whatever route she wanted.

Including that nice, secluded little alleyway.

A few yards in she stopped and surveyed her surroundings. Did the sort of thing she'd never done before she became the Slayer, and looked _up_.

And… _Yahtzee_.

_|#|+-+-+|#|_

From her perch on the metal bar, entire body balanced straight up in the air, with the blood rushing in a direction her brain was deciding it was _not_ supposed to go, Buffy watched her follower come into the alleyway.

Oh. Well. It was just some dumb _guy_.

Who was _seriously_ in the wrong decade, from the look of him. A black trench coat like the bad guys in old movies from the seventies used to wear. Bleached blonde hair that made his head look like a light bulb.

Still, even though she couldn't see much more than that, Buffy could tell that he didn't have an overall _terrible_ body. The light bathing him highlighted just enough angles, told her that while he wasn't overly tall, nor was he carrying an excessive amount of muscle, he was… tight. Compact.

A speedy little sports car compared to the hulking SUVs most guys seemed to want to go in for these days, which was…

_Focus, Buffy_.

She decided to blame the irrational detour into check-out-my-stalker-land on the still-rising blood pressure in her cranium. Apparently it was starting to bring on delirium.

So she was glad when he finally made it far enough to be in the right position for her attack. Flexing her forearm muscles, she set herself in motion. Swung down feet first, and let go, aiming for his back.

Which she would have hit. Would have driven the balls of her feet just between Creepy Dude's shoulder blades.

Except he ducked.

At the last second, the last _millisecond_… he freaking _ducked_.

Which was _so_ not of the good, because she wasn't exactly holding on to anything anymore, meaning the outcome of her _brilliant_ little move was up to physics at this point. She'd sent herself sailing through the night air with just enough torque to land on her shoulders, head cranked to the side. Inertia kept her legs and feet going through, and they crashed to the boardwalk an instant later, splintery jolts firing their way up her nerve endings.

During the long seconds that she took to recover, with her lungs gulping back the air that had been stolen from them, her mind putting together this sequence of events to figure out what the _hell_ had just happened, she was surprised not to hear any footsteps approaching. Not to find a face hovering over her, some smug grin staring down.

Instead, she heard a quiet rustling. Followed by the _clink_ of metal colliding with metal, and then the whisper of a flint being struck.

Groaning, she turned over onto her stomach and hauled herself upright. Tried not to make it look as painful as it was.

"See what you were trying to do there," he said. Or, it was more of a rumble. Like the echoes of some far-off thunderstorm. The sort of thing that was pleasing when heard from a distance, where one could easily forget the danger that actually lurked in its depths. "But the execution was just downright sloppy." Though he was still protected by the shadows that bled down from the buildings around them, the end of his cigarette burned bright. An amber jewel hidden in some deep, dark cave.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I mean. I'll admit. Might've fallen for it," he said in a conversational tone, as if she hadn't even posed the question. With slow, deliberate steps, like a man surveying some recent work he'd done to the kitchen floor, he moved toward her. Kept far enough away that she didn't yet put her guard up, but came just within the outer boundaries of her comfort zone. "If I'd, y'know… had the IQ of a bread box."

Okay, so… from where she was standing now, Buffy could see that yeah, he was packing a more-than-half-decent physique. The leather coat didn't do much to show it off, but the fitted black t-shirt he wore underneath _that_ certainly did. But again… _not_ supposed to be taking mental note of his guy-ness.

Especially since he was kind of a dick.

Did she mention the accent though? English. Silky. Like the feel of chocolate mousse running down her throat.

Still, _bigger fish here, Buffy_…

"All right, look. You've got exactly five seconds to tell me why you're following me, or I'm leaving. If you keep on with the Richard Ramirez impression, well… I'll just make sure my next attempt isn't so _sloppy_."

"Oh, come on now." God, she swore she could hear him _pouting_. When he took a step forward, his face finally illuminated, she saw that she'd been right. "Don't be that way. Was just taking the piss a little. At your expense, yeah, but figured you wouldn't mind a few pointers-"

Buffy was already walking away. Whether it was because she'd already made it to the count of five in her mind, or because she wanted to _not_ notice that somehow, he was _really _making the Billy Idol thing work for him, she didn't want to know.

A hand curled around her arm, and she spun around as he pulled her, their combined forces meaning he had to clench just a bit tighter once she was square with him to stop her from over-rotating. "All right, all right. I'll play nice." He stepped back, hands raised in surrender. "First, let's have a look at you though. Up close."

Realizing what he'd said, her head snapping back in a mixture of surprise and disgust, she crossed her arms. "Uh, no. How about let's _not_."

"Y'know. Thought you might be a bit taller. Always hard to tell from a distance. And _Christ_, you're wearing heels as it is." He shook his head. "Pretty spry though. Almost did clip me back there."

_Don't hit him, don't hit him, don't hit him_. "Yeah, did you _hear_ the part where I said 'let's not'? What part of that made you think I actually wanted the narration?"

He just grinned at her.

"Look, do you want to tell me what the hell it is you want from me- since apparently you know me well enough to already have expectations about my height –so that I can just leave and forget that this is happening right now?"

He studied her with that bemused expression of his, those blue blue _blue_ eyes sparkling in what little light actually filtered down to them, before it all melted away into something a little more sombre.

"'S not like that. Don't want something from _you_. Just so happens… I want the same thing you want."

"Oh yeah?" This would be good. "And what is it that I want?"

This time, when he took that slow step toward her, moving as if he were swimming in a pool of molasses, it seemed as though he wanted to make sure that she was attuned to every cubic inch of his body. That she was really _paying attention_ to him. "To kill them," he said, the thunderstorm having returned. "Every last sodding one of them."

Although he said it with an intensity that made her almost want to agree with him, the fury with which she was fighting against this whole _destiny_ thing was a few measures of magnitude stronger. "Ooh, sorry. That's the wrong answer! But don't worry, you do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of Turtle Wax!" she quipped, enjoying the way his smouldering stare turned into a look of annoyance. "What I _want_ is to be left _alone_."

She was walking away again, and though he didn't grab her to stop her, his voice had enough strength to halt her steps. "'Fraid it doesn't work that way, pet. You're standing- quite literally –on the Mouth of Hell. This isn't a craving for a mocha frappuccino," he spit out the name of the beverage in an almost venomous tone. Using those six syllables to mock everything that he obviously thought she was. "Can't ignore it until it goes away."

Hands clenched into firm little balls, she spun to look at him again. He was holding something else now. Had tossed the cigarette and was turning the new object in his hands. A small black velvet box. The kind that jewellery came in.

With this guy though, she wouldn't be surprised if he opened it to reveal a severed finger.

"Don't turn your back on this." The way he said it, she couldn't figure out if it was a demand or a plea. He tossed the thing at her though. "If you do, you won't be ready. And you've gotta be ready."

"What for?" She didn't even want to know. But couldn't stop herself from asking.

"For the Harvest."

Okay, generally speaking, when people used otherwise harmless-sounding old-fashioned words to describe things, it meant badness. Big, big badness.

She knew she should ask more, should ask for clarification, but instead all that came out was, "who are you?" After all, any guy who talked like he had in the last few seconds… he wasn't just some weirdo who was trying to wrestle her phone number out of her. He was a part of _this_. A part of _it_. The unending, unable-to-take-the-hint-and-just-screw-off, trying-to-kill-her _it_.

A grin tugged on one corner of his mouth before he quashed it. "Let's just say… I'm a friend." With a one-shouldered shrug, he started to turn away.

For some reason, she didn't want him to get away that easily. "Yeah, well… maybe I don't want a friend."

He smacked a hand to his chest. She noticed there wasn't any jiggling of excess body fat. Just the dull _thump_ of bone meeting a wall of muscle. "Oh, dear. Excuse me then, love. Gonna go straight home, crawl into bed, put my head on my pillow and weep until I fall asleep." He smirked at her. "Broken my heart, you have."

When he turned around again, she didn't have any more verbal harpoons to throw at him. She doubted he would've responded if she'd made another attack, anyway.

With an intense urge to hit things now scrabbling through her body, dancing down her nerves like a colony of ants on their way to a mound of sugar, Buffy just glared after him. Caught in a bubbling stew of mixed feelings. Anger, insult, frustration, and worst of all… just the tiniest glimmer of attraction. Then more anger, at herself for being attracted to _that_. For thinking thoughts that even remotely resembled _yummy_ in relation to a mysterious creeper who'd followed her here and then proceeded to just act like some arrogant jackass.

It was only after she'd turned to continue on her trek to the Bronze, arms swinging at her sides, that she remembered what she held in her hands. It skimmed against her thigh, and she looked down in mild surprise at it. Prying it open, the hinges whining like a teenager being asked to do housework, she didn't actually find a detached body part.

A silver cross, simplistic in its design, yet somehow kind of beautiful, stared up at her. She could do nothing but stare back.

Who the hell _was_ that guy?

[[END]]


	2. The Harvest

**Author's Notes: **

Thank you so much for the positive feedback so far. Because I'm enjoying writing it so much, I'm very nervous about how this story goes over, so it's good to see thumbs up so far. :D

Dialogue lifted from Season 1, 'The Harvest'.

* * *

><p>For the eight hundred and thirty sixth time that week, Buffy found herself missing Los Angeles. Big city like that, the principal barely noticed she was more than one of the two thousand human-shaped cockroaches scurrying around their school, let alone took time out of their day to find out why she was standing so close to the edge of school property.<p>

Of course, Sunnydale hadn't been _so_ bad to her thus far. Except for the whole threat of apocalypse looming over her head, she was actually sort of enjoying herself. Had even made three new friends by the end of her first day.

Although, depending on how this mission turned out, that number might already be knocked back to two.

But- no. No, that wasn't how this was going down. Buffy was gonna get Jesse out.

Just as soon as she found something to break this stupid chain. Wrapped around the entryway to the tunnel like some vile serpent, mocking her for the fact that yeah, she could take out two, three, even four vamps in one night but some measly little chain and padlock? Suddenly had her stumped.

A familiar sound pinged through the air then. Followed by a quick grinding noise.

Great. Stalker Guy from the night before was back.

Sighing, hands resting on her hips, she looked up at the ceiling as if she'd find some secret reserve of patience stowed there. No such luck. "I don't suppose you have a key on you?"

"Sorry. Dropped it down the sewer on my way here."

"Great. A blowtorch then?"

"In my other coat."

Buffy turned to face him then, annoyed by the fact that filtered daylight was as kind to his facial features as the shroud of evening. _Let's skip right over that thought though, shall we?_

"So, what? Were you just waiting around until I got here so you could gloat about how much help you're _not_ gonna be?"

"More or less." Slipping his lighter back into his pocket, he strode forward to close the gaping distance between them. "Knew you'd figure this entryway out sooner or later." He squinted one eye at her. "Actually, I thought it'd be a _little_ sooner."

Oh, so… not only was he not going to help her, he was going to tease her as well?

Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy glared at him. "Are you planning to make a habit of dropping in on me like this? 'Cause there were a lot of things I was hoping to find when I moved here, and a stalker definitely wasn't one of them."

"Hadn't given it much thought one way or the other, to be honest." He was grinning at her. _Grinning_. Apparently more amused by her indignation than in any way affronted. "And, not a stalker here. Haven't sent you any notes written in blood, have I? And when's the last time you heard of a stalker being helpful?"

"You're _not_ being helpful. I thought we'd covered that part."

Still grinning. "Right. Sorry."

"All right. Fine. If you're gonna be making a habit of this… popping-up-wherever-I-am act, then… can you at least tell me your name?"

He seemed to actually take his time in contemplating how to respond to this request. Unfortunately for him though, one of this guy's biggest problems appeared to be an inability to control his own vocal cords. "S-William."

Buffy cocked an eyebrow and giggled a little. "Swilliam?"

A muscle in his jaw flexed, bulging beneath the skin like a groundhog about to break through the earth's surface. "It's. William."

God, he almost seemed to be in physical pain at having to be marginally polite. "Well, William. It's nice to meet you. I'm Buffy."

The way his own eyebrow twitched- she hadn't noticed the jagged scar there before –and his mouth curled up at one corner, she couldn't tell if he was fighting back the urge to laugh at her given name… or if he was amused by her choice to offer it at all.

Because she got the feeling he sort of already knew that piece of information.

Which, come to think of it… if that were the case, maybe she shouldn't be standing in some secluded, abandoned mausoleum with a guy who would had to have known her name _before_ tracking her down first in an alleyway, and then here. Both times when she was alone.

Somehow, she was starting to think she might be better off with the gang of bloodsucking fiends waiting for her.

Turning around, she moved to make a second attempt at the door, when his voice stopped her. "Again, love. I'd like to advise _against_ the suicide mission."

Buffy had to laugh at that comment. She _had to_. Facing him again, arms crossed, she tilted her head. "Let me ask you something. This Harvest thing you mentioned last night. The thing you want me to be ready for… I've asked around, and sources all say it's on the epic level of badness."

A single nod. "Sources say right."

"So what you're telling me is that I need to stay on the chained side of this door right now, so I'll be able to go and face some _other_ suicide mission later on?"

"That about sums it up."

She gaped at him. "God! Do you even _listen_ to yourself when you talk?"

He shrugged. "I drift in and out."

Okay, that was it. She _officially_ hated this guy. "Well, guess what. You? You're gonna have to _deal_ with my going."

"The Harvest is _tonight_, you ninny," he growled, taking another step closer. "You put yourself at risk like this, get yourself killed? The Master walks. Then it's so long bloody Sunnydale and the rest of the world with it."

Attempting not to taste the plume of leather and cigarettes that had just wafted in her direction, she stared right back at him, refusing to let her foundation be shifted by the bulldozer of his gaze. "Well, if this Harvest thing is such a suckfest, why don't _you_ stop it?"

This made him stand up taller. Made him squint his eyes a little as his head tilted off its axis ever-so-slightly. "Between the two of us, which one is the Slayer?"

A rock jammed in her throat when that word… that _title_ slipped past his lips. Now, she stared at him not out of determination, but because her eyes had lost their ability to focus. Had simply reset to default mode and were gazing at whatever happened to be right in front of them.

Of course, she already knew that he must know what she was. He wouldn't have followed her last night or today, wouldn't have given her the cross or have been saying all the things he'd said if he _didn't_ know, but… she just hadn't expected him to come right out and _say_ it like that.

Somehow though, that comment just added to her strength. Yeah. Right now, she was willing to accept that she _was_ the Slayer. Which meant she had every right- hell, a _duty_ –to do what she'd come here to do. Spinning around, leg already cocked, she drove her boot into the metal structure. Tried not to acknowledge the way her muscles sang in delight at the feeling of such a thorough _impact_.

"They know you're coming."

"I've got a friend down there. Or… at least, a potential friend. Do you know what it's like to have a friend?"

"Sure I do. Got you, don't I?"

Buffy didn't know how to answer that. Even more, she didn't know if he was joking, or… attempting to hide something from her that she'd unknowingly unearthed. Like bug scrabbling for cover beneath an uplifted boulder, hoping that if it can get out of sight quickly enough, it'll be saved from getting squished.

When a few seconds ticked by in which she failed to come up with a response that didn't involve her jaw dangling open, he sighed in defeat. Whether it was because she had actually unsettled him with her question and he was attempting to cover for it, or because he was starting to understand that he was _not_ in control of this particular situation, she didn't know. Didn't really care at the moment, either, because either way, she was getting the information she needed.

"When you hit the tunnels, head east towards the school. 'S where you'll likely find them."

"Thank you," she murmured, pausing to make sure that he knew she meant it. "So. You gonna wish me luck?"

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Yeah. Good luck, Slayer."

Unsettled again by his use of such a moniker, even though it was technically correct, she nodded and headed through the doorway.

"Although I'd wager that between the two of you, you're not the one that's gonna need it."

"Oh yeah?" she scoffed. "That why you came to stop me from even going down… there?" Two days she'd known him, and already he seemed to have the uncanny ability to make her dizzy in all kinds of ways. She'd spun around yet again to face him, but somehow, without making a sound, he'd already disappeared.

"Yeah…" she said into the air, ignoring the little thread of disappointment that had now knotted in her stomach at his departure, because again with the _hating him_. "See you around."

_|#|+-+-+|#|_

She'd done it. The fucking girl had _done it_.

Though he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't get involved, Spike hadn't even _tried_ to resist claiming a front-row seat to the whole show. It had required a bit of fighting against the very laws of gravity, clinging to some rafters that dug into some rather _inconvenient_ locations on his body, but he didn't regret a single second of it.

Oh, he'd have stepped in if he had to. Would've relinquished his oh-so-comfortable spectator's spot to join in the fray if the big, vampire-shaped pile of cinderblocks had become a _real_ threat to her. But he never had, so Spike stayed put.

Sure, there was a not-miniscule part of him that raged at staying idle through the whole thing. Every muscle in his body tensed and seized, protesting their lack of involvement in the fight. Angry that he would deprive them of such joyous chaos and violence.

But this battle… he knew it had to be hers. From start to finish, it was the Slayer's gig. It was _she_ who had to engage the enemy, who had to fight and finally slaughter them. Spike couldn't imagine any other way for her to seize hold of the power that she possessed, and to really _claim_ it as her own. From the way she'd spoken last night and earlier that day, he could tell that she was still uncomfortable with it. Bitter about having such a responsibility- a monumental one indeed –thrust upon her.

Tonight… it was a way for her to understand the necessity of embracing her calling. To perhaps see that she could even enjoy it.

And she _had_ enjoyed it.

God, the girl was glorious to watch.

She wasn't perfect. No, if anything she was still nearly as green as the needles on a Douglas-fir. Her staking technique needed to be refined, and it was clear that she hadn't even _begun_ to unlock the strength that was sewn through the sinews of her flesh. She thought a little too much about some of her more acrobatic moves, and that Watcher of hers would have to teach her a few things about keeping aware of her surroundings, no matter how many distractions were being lobbed at her.

That was half the fun of the show she put on though. Everything about her, about what she did, was still so _raw_. Still lacking some of the finer fighting skills, she instead used what was around her. Used her environment as a weapon. She'd used a god damned _cymbal_ to decapitate a vamp. Took out the Vessel himself with nothing but misdirection…

Girl was a bloody genius, and she probably didn't even know it.

Looked good with his gift slung around her neck through the whole thing, too. He wondered if she'd thought of him at all when she'd been slipping it on…

One thing was certain though. Despite all of her protests, no matter how much she insisted that slaying the Big Bad was _someone else's_ problem, she'd had _fun_ tonight. She probably hadn't meant to, probably didn't _want_ to, but… the quips, the little snickers she'd made at her more clever dusting methods… they served as pretty clear evidence that yeah, she liked what she did. Even if she wouldn't admit it.

During the time he'd spent observing her so far, studying her, Spike had wondered on more than one occasion if the Powers had chosen her simply to play a practical joke on the Watchers. Handing over this bottle blonde former cheerleader whose main priority in life used to be making sure that the contents of her closet mirrored those of the latest magazines. They probably didn't think, didn't even care if this girl would last more than a few weeks. After all, there was always another Slayer waiting in line.

Yet here she was. Still. Nearly a year in and it looked to him like she was just beginning what would be a long and successful career.

Or maybe he was just confusing what he _saw_ with what he _hoped_ to be true…

Didn't matter though. Not tonight. Tonight, she'd done what she had to. Stopped the Master from rising. Converted that bulkhead of a manservant of his into nothing more than a smudge on the stage, mixed in with the spilled beer and cigarette ash.

Spike was proud of her. Proud of his… proud of _this_ girl.

Couldn't wait until the next Big Bad came to town, so he could watch her dismantle _that_, too.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Post-Chapter AN:**_ _The "I drift in and out" joke was taken directly from S2, E18 of Family Guy. Mentioning it here because I didn't want to spoil it by addressing it at the top._


	3. The Witch

**Author's Notes**

So, just FYI: I think I'm going to go for a once-weekly update with this fic. That should give me enough time to get far enough ahead on subsequent chapters that I won't have to go for extended periods without an update. Fingers crossed that this plan works out.

Secondly: No, I am not above saying the words 'Feedback = love'. Honestly folks, this goes for _any_ fic you read by _any_ author: feedback is like chocolate infused with rainbows sprinkled with gold stars and delivered by an army of puppies. Even if it's just a 'yay' or a 'nay', it gives us an idea of what you think so far. In this case, I'm truly curious as to whether or not you're enjoying this take on the Buffyverse or not...

That said, whether you _do_ end up commenting or not, thank you for reading, and as always, I hope you enjoy.

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><p>"So. Took down the Master, did you? All by your little lonesome?"<p>

Buffy's foot skidded through the grass as she stopped at the sound of his voice. Six seconds later she inhaled the halitosis from his cancer sticks. Wished the two events could've happened in reverse, so she'd have had a bit of warning about his presence. Turning to face the spot where he'd have materialized out of apparently nowhere, she crossed her arms and peered at him. "I thought we talked about this whole following-me-around thing, and how much I'd prefer it to _not_ be a thing."

William gave a thoughtful frown as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Way I recall it," a cloud of bluish smoke slithered from his lips, which arranged themselves into a satisfied grin. "It wasn't the following that was the problem; it was that we hadn't yet been properly introduced. A problem we've already remedied, yeah?"

Oh, so this was him trying to be charming, was it? Witty? Buffy rolled her eyes and kept walking.

"I particularly liked the move you pulled on old Quasimodo. Can't believe he fell for it, but-"

"You were _there_ that night?" Buffy raged as she whirled on him. Almost ran into his chest as she did it though, as he'd fallen into step behind her. Opening a larger gap between them, she scoffed. "Oh wait. Who am I kidding? If you're creepy enough to follow me around in the dark, you've gotta be creepy enough to watch me face down what could've been me getting _extremely_ dead."

"Oh, come on now. Weren't going to snuff it that night and we both know it. Was hardly even a fair fight."

She sputtered. "Hardly- _what_? You actually think I had the _advantage_? Did you not notice how much I was outnumbered?"

Even though his expression had turned more serious, it was still infected by that perpetual amusement he seemed to wear when addressing her. "Slayer, your biggest threat that night was the equivalent of a slow-moving gorilla who was too daft to realize that sunrise was nearly _half a day_ away." Then, as if he'd become bored by this line of conversation already, he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Anyway, just wanted to offer my congrats. Also, thought I should let you know… might wanna watch your six."

"Huh?"

"Behind you, love."

Buffy felt the tingles on her neck a millisecond later. Leg already cocked as she spun, she delivered a side-kick into the attacking vampire's gut. Hurtling through the air, it landed against a tombstone. By the time it had a chance to think about getting up again, she'd already driven her stake into her chest.

"Look," she prompted, continuing their argument as if the interlude had never occurred. "I don't want your stupid congratulations, so you can just…"

Somehow, in the mere seconds it had taken her to dispatch the vampire, William had disappeared. Not just walked away, or sauntered off- rotating a full three hundred and sixty degrees, she couldn't find even the _ripples_ of his retreating form anywhere. He'd literally _vaporized_.

Well… good. Good! She _so_ didn't want to talk to him anymore, anyway.

Not one little bit.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Hard as she'd been trying, Buffy just could _not_ shove her thoughts of last night's encounter with William out of the spotlight in her mind. A task made all the more difficult by the fact that tidbits of their conversations prior to that were also starting to leak in, earning him a rather gigantic residence in her consciousness.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever met anyone more… _obnoxious_ in her entire life. That included the vampire who'd hunted her for two straight weeks last June, the one with the nasally voice who just would _not_ shut up, _and_ the guy who'd sat next to her in math that had the disgusting habit of belching every ten minutes.

Yeah. William was right up there with the Fran Drescher of the vampire world and the real-life version of Barney Gumble.

What the hell was his _deal_, anyway? What kind of person followed high school girls around in the dark, gave them cryptic messages about upcoming doom, and then just sat around and _watched_ while she kicked said doom's bumpy, fangy ass?

He was probably unemployed. Spent all his time at home playing video games, and had finally gotten so wrapped up in his weirdo hero fantasies that now he was trying to cut in on _her_ action. Or, not even cut in… just… direct it. Like he was the one holding the controller and she was the character he sent running around on his screen, throwing punches and dodging kicks.

_A, A, arrow up, arrow left, B, arrow right_, and down goes the Vessel.

Who knew if he was even on her side? Maybe he was some whacked-out demon worshipper. Just helping her these first few times to gain her trust, so that when he finally fed her a batch of false information she'd go running into some abandoned factory, crossbow at the ready, having no idea that thirty-odd vamps were already waiting there to take her out.

Gah! It was all so _stupid_. _He_ was stupid, and _she_ was stupid for listening to his stupidness, and… and… and she should tell Giles. Giles would know what to do about this guy. He could probably send the Watchers' Council after him for… for illegal Slayer interference. Or something.

Turning left towards the library when she should've been going right towards English class, she appeased the little twang of academic guilt in her consciousness by deciding that she was going to talk to _Giles_, who _was_ English, so… there must be some sort of compensation going on there, right?

"Giles?" she called out, unsurprised by the total lack of pulses in the room. Didn't anyone ever even come down here to do research for a class project?

"Buffy, good morning," he greeted her as he emerged from the stacks, glancing down at the spine of a book he was holding. "How are you?"

"Fine." Except for the little skirmish with her Mom in the kitchen that morning, but… he probably wouldn't be able to help her much with _that_ problem. "Giles, what can you tell me about…" Buffy paused, suddenly realizing she didn't really know how to describe the 'what' of William's presence in her life over the last couple of weeks.

Slipping the book into its rightful place, he turned to her after a few long seconds had meandered past them. "Buffy?"

"Okay, so, there's this… guy."

Halfway down the stairs, he paused when the last word dribbled out of her mouth. "Oh dear."

"Relax, Giles. I'm not using you as a Willow stand-in, here. Don't get me wrong, you're cool for an old guy and everything, but…" seeing the look on his face, she backtracked. "I mean… not old guy. I mean you're cool for… for an adult of indeterminate but obviously still _youthful-_"

"It's all right, Buffy. Carry on," he assured her, apparently no more comfortable with her attempts to correct herself than her original blunder.

"Anyway, there's this guy. This annoying, way-too-into-leather, not-at-_all _-attractive guy who's been keeping tabs on me since I got here."

"Keeping… tabs?"

"Big tabs. With colour coding and labels. My first night here, he followed me on my way to the Bronze. He's the one who told me about the Harvest."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Then when I went to look for Jesse, he was there again. Told me where I'd find him. And last night? He shows up when I'm on patrol and wants to _congratulate_ me for stopping the Harvest. Barely even blinks when a vamp comes at me from behind, and then _voosh!_ He's gone."

"Oh dear. The vampire…?"

"No, I mean he left." She sighed, hopping up onto one of the tables. "So I'm thinking, this guy must be some sort of… like… slaying enthusiast or something. Some guy with a Bruce Wayne complex who wants to rid the world of evil but doesn't have the billions in cash to fund the actual operation." She peered up at him. "Are there people who actually do that? Use their free time for slayage? Like… as a hobby?"

"Well, it's not common, and certainly nothing that's endorsed by the Watchers' Council, but… indeed, it does happen. For whatever reason, otherwise normal people decide to take up the good fight against the forces of darkness. Much like Xander and Willow, I suppose."

"Yeah, but they've got a Slayer backing them up. Seems to me like he's doing the whole Lone Ranger thing." After a second, she realized he'd said something that could be of help in her quest to banish this guy from her business. "So wait. You said these people aren't endorsed by the Council. Does that mean we can- or that we _should_ -have him, like… arrested by the Council or something?"

A frown flickered across his brow. "Oh, no. No, quite the opposite, in fact. From what you've said, this young man seems to be well-informed about the happenings here in Sunnydale. Of course, it would be unwise to simply take anything he has to say as absolute fact- we'll have to verify any other information he might provide us with, but… I would say that having him as an ally, especially here, on the Hellmouth… it could be an indispensable advantage for us. What did you say his name was?"

"I didn't." Buffy deflated on the table, feeling like a beach ball that had just been stuck through with a harpoon.

Well… _that_ certainly hadn't gone as planned.

|#|+-+-+|#|

"You all right there, pet? Looking a little wobbly walking around on those twigs of yours."

Buffy physically fought the urge to growl at the sound of his voice. Fought even harder not to retrieve a rock from the ground and swing it at his skull as he fell into step beside her. Slaying vampires: good. Slaying obnoxious annoying humans, while quite satisfying: not so good.

"Is this you attempting to flatter me? 'Cause if you ever hope to inflict your charms on any _other_ members of the female population- which, God willing, will be very, _very_ soon –I should probably tell you… your whole approach could use a _lot_ of work."

"Nah," he waved a dismissive hand at her. "If I were trying to flatter you, I'd tell you how much your hair looks like a pot of warm honey, glowing in the moonlight like that."

_Bubba-dah-whaaa?_ "Uh-"

"'Course I know how much you wouldn't appreciate that, coming from the likes of me, so… just meant, from the way you're walking, looks like the day might've been a little rough on you is all."

Buffy was still snagged on what he'd just said to her, and trying to decode the little barb or insult that _must_ be hiding in there. "I… uh… yeah. There was… this witch. Put the whammy on me, and I almost, sort of died." There. That sounded coherent, didn't it?

"You serious?"

Though she knew she had to be hallucinating, there was a look of mild concern on his face that prompted her to give a proper answer. "Of the muchly. It's no big though. There was the routine showdown, I won, and now she's… I don't know where, actually. Gone, at least."

"Christ," he said with a shake of his head, pulling up to lean against a headstone. "So… what'd you do then? To get this witch so brassed off she'd be looking to end you."

Buffy couldn't help laughing, only realizing now just how _absurd_ the whole situation had been. "I made the cheerleading squad. She didn't."

"The-" It was his turn to laugh. "_Cheerleading_? Come on, Slayer. Now you're just teasing me." When she continued looking at him, face neutral, he tilted his head. "You mean to tell me you're gonna be getting up there in some tight little uniform and a short little skirt, shaking your pom-poms all around for the big strong athletes?" He shook his head. "Almost doesn't seem right, seeing as how I'm sure you could toss any one of _them_ around like a bloody pigskin."

Not really sure how to take this latest comment, knowing there were parts to it that were insulting, and others that were supposed to contribute to her sense of dignity, Buffy shrugged. "Well, that was the plan. Except, after this whole thing, I've kind of lost enthusiasm for it. Which, y'know, is sort of the _point_ of cheerleading in the first place."

"Yeah. Guess it is."

Silence stretched its legs out between them. Got real comfortable. William seemed happy to enjoy it, leaning there against the headstone, absorbing another dose of nicotine into his lungs. Man, the guy was a real chain smoker…

"So. What is it tonight?"

"Hm?"

"Well, every time we've met so far, it's because you've had something of dire importance to tell me, or because you've wanted to congratulate me on making said importance not-so-dire anymore, so… what is it tonight?"

"Oh. Nothing, really." He stood up with a shrug. "Just passing through, saw you happen by, thought I'd say hello."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"Not… 'Hello, and oh guess what, now there's some Dinuvian Slime Demon on its way to destroy your new fall wardrobe'?"

That earned a grin. "Not as such."

"Oh."

"Disappointed, love?"

"What, that my clothing is safe from otherworldly goop? Yeah, no."

He chuckled, casting his expended cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it with the toe of his boot. "Well, suppose there is one matter we could address." Straightening up again, he fixed those sapphire crystals of his on her. "There's the matter of a slight misunderstanding. From that day in the tomb…"

Buffy thought back to their conversation. Couldn't recall anything in particular that might've qualified as such.

"Seeing as how we're such good friends now, wanted to tell you, my name… It's not… well, technically it _is_ William, but I've got another handle I go by."

"Oh yeah?" She crossed her arms.

"Yeah. My friends- that'd be you, sweetheart-"

"Don't I know it."

"Well, my enemies too… they call me… name's Spike, actually."

Buffy didn't realize how hard she'd laughed at that until she noticed how stony his face had gone. Like an Easter Island statue.

"What's so funny?" he ground out so hard there should've been a fine layer of sand that collected at his feet.

"Nothing… well, I mean… come _on_. Spike? That sounds like the name of the drummer in some crappy eighties hair band. You know, one of those ones with a name like Venom or Rattlesnake or…" she cleared her throat. "You know."

"Right. Of course. 'Spike' is ridiculous, but 'Buffy'… well, it's just gleaming with that touch of classic elegance."

Now it was her turn to bring out the look of _not_ amused. "What's wrong with 'Buffy'?"

"Well, it's a _terrible_ name, pet."

"My _mother_ gave me that name."

"Your mother? Oh, yeah… she's a genius, I'm sure. Apple, tree, and all that."

"Wh-! How-!" Words! Words could not be formed around the bright, burning ball of rage that had suddenly erupted in her throat. Finally, she quelled it enough that her vocal cords could at least function. "You know what, _Spike_? This conversation? Is so, _so_ over. See you around… although I'm hoping it'll be some time on the other side of _never_."

"One can only hope," he agreed with her already departing back. "'Ta for now then, pet."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Post-Chapter AN:_**_Yep, that was dialogue from Season 4, 'Something Blue' in there. This note withheld until now so it wouldn't spoil the surprise ;) _


	4. Teacher's Pet

**Author's Notes:** Nothing big this time 'round. Just thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who's reading, and thank you for all of your wonderful comments/encouragement. Glad to see that what started as pure crack!fic in my mind has translated into something that other people are enjoying too :)

Dialogue zoinked from Season 1, _Teacher's Pet_. Also, Willow's 'warm glowing warmness' comment is, I'm pretty sure, from an episode of _The Simpsons_.

* * *

><p>"Babes!"<p>

A second later, and she was wrapped in the warm glowing warmness that was Xander's left arm. Although it was a little less muscular than his right, and it felt like there was an extra knob on the inside of his elbow, Willow liked it all the same. Buffy asked what he was up to, but Willow _thoroughly_ didn't care. Xander was touching her. Xander touches were always good touches.

"Work with me here. Blayne had the nerve to question my manliness. I'm just gonna give him a visual."

Well, that was a plan she could _definitely_ get on board with. Not about to waste an opportunity to embrace him, as though they were really a real couple, Willow threw both arms around him, hugging him tight. He didn't mind if she ran her hand across his chest, did he? Just a little bit… "We'll show him!"

She looked over at Buffy, to give her an _oh_ _my gosh, look! Do you see this? With the touching and the holding and isn't this __**great**_ look, but she seemed a bit distracted. Looking across the club, features gone slack.

"I don't believe it," she murmured, tone half annoyed, half apathetic.

"I know, and after all my conquests," Xander said excitedly, apparently not picking up on the new vibe.

Buffy stepped out of the embrace, as if she'd forgotten it was even happening, and headed in the direction she'd been staring. Disengaging from the Xander Hug, Willow stayed shoulder-to-shoulder with him, searching the crowd to see who, or what, had hypnotized their best friend.

Standing just inside one of the near exits was a guy who looked to be maybe a few years older than them. From this distance it was tough to really make out his face, but his bleached hair was like the glowing beacon of a lighthouse. He was dressed mostly in black; black boots, black jeans, a black t-shirt, and black leather jacket that fell past his knees. The only splash of colour came from the button-down shirt he was wearing, the colour of blood oozing from a vein.

"Who's that?" Xander asked, realizing along with her that he was their friend's target.

"That must be William!" she blurted, recalling the small tidbits Buffy had fed them over the last couple of weeks about the guy who'd been showing up around town. Not quite following her, but not exactly accidentally bumping into her, either. She'd never talked about what he looked like though. "I think?"

"That weird guy that warned her about the Harvest?"

"That's him, I'll bet you."

Xander, who'd been tense and anxious any time Buffy had talked about the Mysterious Guy of Mystery, suddenly seemed rather relaxed. "Oh. Well." A little giggle. "Oh."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. It's just- the way she talked about him. I expected him to be buff. All tall, dark, and mysterious. Instead he's… well, look at his hair! If that doesn't scream 'please, please, oh _please_, someone look at me', I don't know what does."

"So you're not threatened by him?"

"Not so much."

"Even though Buffy just forgot we even existed to go over and say hello?" she asked. Hated twisting a little exact-o-knife into his crush on their friend, but… but he was _hers_, darnit, and he wasn't ever going to realize it if he kept his gaze pinned firmly on Buffy.

Xander weighed her words for a few seconds, that triumphant smile ghosting on and off of his face like the picture on an aerial television. "Well… well, now I am!"

|#|+-+-+|#|

Spike didn't move from where he was standing. Just watched her approach, her scent reaching him a few seconds ahead of her and wrapping around him like a warm quilt. There were times in the last few weeks where he'd had to reel in his urge to comment on it. To tell her that she didn't even have to bother with the delicious perfume she wore, because underneath it she smelled like the rays of honeyed sunlight that bounced off the surface of a tranquil lake in the summertime. Not that he'd been in a position to smell such a phenomenon in a good long while, but even a hundred and twenty years on, the bloody awful poet inside of him still scrabbled to the surface of his psyche once in a while.

He drank in a deep gulp of it just as she planted herself in front of him. Held it in as long as he could.

"Well! Look who's here!"

He grinned at her. Glanced just over her shoulder to the friends she'd left behind, and wondered for only the briefest moment what their names were. The boy didn't look happy. "Hi."

"I'd say it's nice to see you, but then we both know that's a big fib."

Yeah, he'd set himself up for a greeting like that. Seems he'd been incapable of speaking to her since their first meeting without ensuring that he was chewing on his foot at the same time. "Oh, you wound me so, Miss Buffy."

"Yuh-huh." She rolled her eyes, unconvinced. "I'm sure you've got an ego the size of the _Titanic_."

"Would that make you the iceberg then?"

"Nah. Just a casual observer who'll be glad to watch you sink."

"Right. Listen. I won't be long. Have you back with your little pals in no time."

"Let me guess. You've got a cryptic warning for me about some exciting new catastrophe, and once delivered, you'll disappear into the night."

Although the Slayer filled up just about every one of his senses, Spike couldn't help noticing the way her friends were still staring. Could barely contain his amusement at the way the girl seemed enraptured in their conversation, while the boy looked as though he wanted to tackle him. So, it was partly because he wanted to rile him up a bit, and partly because Spike just wanted an excuse to _touch_ her, that he stepped forward and wrapped his hands around her arms.

"You look cold, Slayer," he commented, running his palms up and down the delicate but powerful pillars. Static electricity sparked beneath his palms, and he felt the current diffuse through every reanimated cell in his body. While her scent was a cozy blanket that wrapped around him, comforting him, the feel of her skin beneath his lit a fire in his gut that was already burning its way to the surface.

"What?" she blurted, attempting to step back from his hold. "I'm not cold. I'm the opposite of cold. It's a balmy night, you know… no reason to be all with the-"

He had to stop himself from laughing; even from this distance, he could hear her friend making an almost identical comment. "Relax, love. It's just an excuse to stand a little closer, make sure the innocent passers-by don't hear what I've got to tell you."

This eased a bit of the tension from her muscles. She melted, ever-so-slightly, into his caresses.

"Got some information on a new baddie that's rolling into town. Sure your Watcher'll have a few things to add when you ask him."

"You know, for someone who's wearing three layers, you're pretty chilly yourself."

Spike chuckled. So he _was_ having a bit of an effect on the girl, was he? Severing his contact with her, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Not that he hadn't been enjoying it himself, but he needed her to hear what he had to say. "Listen, this new vamp… he's not your run-of-the-mill bloodsucker. You ever watch the _X-Men_?"

"Uh… I know _of_ the _X-Men_."

"Well, you take your garden variety vamp, cross him with that Wolverine bloke, and, well… tah-bloody-da."

"Wolverine…"

"The one with the claw hands?" he prompted, holding up three fingers in a crude demonstration.

"Oh right," her eyes widened as she put this together with his description. "Oh."

"'S just on the one hand, but he knows how to use it." Which she probably didn't need to be told, but it seemed worthwhile to mention it anyway. "From what I've sussed out, he's an old lackey for the Master, which means it probably won't be long 'till he's coming after you. So… stay sharp," he said with a little grin.

"Ha. Ha."

"I know. Thinking of giving up my day job to become a comedian full-time."

This put a thoughtful look on her face. "What _is_ your day job?"

"None of your business, Slayer," he said, though it was playful. "Should probably shove off anyhow. Your mates are starting to look lonely. The boy looks like he's about to have an aneurysm."

Buffy glanced back at them. "Oh. Yeah. I should…"

"Right. Be careful out there, yeah?"

"I will. And you… you too."

|#|+-+-+|#|

A door slammed downstairs, and glancing at the clock, Buffy knew it wasn't her mother. The voice that called up to her a second later confirmed it. "Buffy?"

"Up here, Will!"

For the thunderstorm that suddenly erupted in her home, she wondered how it was that Willow didn't weigh a good two hundred pounds more than she actually did. Sounded like there as an elephant charging up the stairs.

"Hey!" she said as her friend's form appeared in her doorway.

…Then catapulted itself at her bed in a hurricane of colour and red hair. "So? Sososososo!"

She couldn't help laughing. "So what?"

"So! _Spill!_ About the guy! The extremely guy-shaped guy who was at the Bronze last night. Was it William? It was William, wasn't it? Was it him? I _know_ it was!"

After his departure last night, Buffy had returned to her friends wearing an odd and contemplative frown. Apparently wanting to spare Xander the torture of discussing the mysterious visitor in front of him, Willow had given her a look that said they would _definitely_ be having some girl-talk about him later. No opportunities had presented themselves at school that day- they were busy with class and studying and researching the vamp Spike had come by to warn her about.

"Will, I know it's going to break your heart to hear this, but there's nothing to spill. This is a no-spill zone."

"Yes there is! Buffy, did you even _see_ yourself last night? 'Cause I did. I was there!" She insisted, as if this was something the Slayer might not have been aware of. "So come on! Make like Niagara Falls!"

"You want me to generate electricity?"

"Although I'm impressed that you just made that reference, you _know_ that's not what I mean! Buffy, _please_."

"Honest, Will. There's nothing to say. I mean, that _was_ him, yes, but… there's nothing…" Nothing there? Well, that would be a lie. There was loathing, and a good helping of venom… and there was the way his hands had felt against her arms, and what he'd said to her about her hair the other night even though she was _sure_ he was just needling her, and then the way he'd told her to be careful, as if he really did mean _that_, and…

"It's not like that between us," she finished with a somewhat apologetic look on her face. "Like, at all."

All sorts of postures flashed across the redhead's face at that. Disappointment, denial, frustration. Lastly, and this was the one she held on to… smug satisfaction. Like she knew something that Buffy didn't, and she was enjoying it. "Uh huh."

"It isn't! Really… if you'd been present for all of our previous conversations, you _definitely_ wouldn't be looking at me like that right now."

"Yeah. And you've been delusional for how long now?"

"Hey!"

"Well, you deprive me of juicy boy-related details, and this is what you get. Snarky Willow. So either fess up, or learn to love me."

"Oh, so it's boy-talk you want?" Buffy asked with false cheeriness.

This made the other girl perk up though, bouncing on her knees in those bright green overalls of hers that she somehow managed to pull off. "Yes please!"

"All right. Then tell me, how are things going with your intense crush on he-who-shall-not-be-named, by which I mean _Xander_?"

Comprehension settling in, Willow deflated, giving her a one-eyed glare. "Fine. Shutting up now."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"So." A hand came into view, snatched a helping of snack mix out of the bowl in front of her, and returned to a mouth that was starting to become a little too familiar. Spike's teeth then pulverized the helpless junk food as he grinned at her. "Heard a rumour there's one less vampire walking around, making a nuisance of himself."

"There is," she nodded as he leaned against the bar with one elbow. "Although that's only the _half_ of it. Not _even_ the half of it if you're going by sheer size."

An eyebrow perked, and he spun to rest both forearms against the bar, leaning sideways to nudge her with his shoulder. "Do tell."

"Well, there was this substitute teacher we had at school the last few days. Working the whole femme fatale look. Turns out she was a giant praying mantis demon thing who was snatching up the guys in school to uh… well… y'know."

Spike stared at her, contemplating what he'd just been told. He then backed up, and planted one booted calf on the stool beside her. "Pull the other one, Slayer," he snickered.

"It's true! 21 Cotswold Court. Drop on by if you want proof- there's still plenty of goop and slime stuck to the walls."

"Huh," he grunted after studying her for another few seconds, searching for any sign that she was making it up. "Well, guess they really do mean it when they say that schools today are going to hell."

"Shyeah. Some sooner than others." Scooping up a pinch of the salty snack mix herself, Buffy hid her grin at the way he was tapping his fingers on the bar beside her to some inaudible rhythm. Whatever song he was listening to in his head had a much more chaotic pace than the one slipping over them from the Bronze's speakers. "So… I guess I should thank you for the tip. About Wolverine."

While he'd been looking around, scanning the crowd before she spoke, the second her voice broke the air again his attention zeroed back in on her. Like a hawk that had just spotted a mouse scurrying through the bushes below its perch. "Pleasure's all mine, love."

She fought with herself over whether to release the words that were resting on her tongue, but before she could really think it over they'd already broken through the lock on the gate and trampled out into the atmosphere. "Of course, next time, it might make things easier… for both of us… if I knew how to get in touch with you."

Spike's eyes widened, and he did this thing with his mouth where his tongue curled up over his teeth, his lips grinning around the bulge. "Why, Miss Summers. Are you asking for my phone number?"

Was she? Did… did she just talk? With words and a complete sentence? Because… suddenly her brain was finding it difficult to… what was she doing again?

"Why you brazen little hussy." Though the words were insulting, the way he said them suggested he was using them in a way that was anything but.

Still, they shook off whatever neurotoxin _that look_ had injected her with, and she straightened up. Frown firmly affixed to her visage. "Do you think it'll ever be possible for us to have a conversation where you _don't_ say something that's incredibly… jerk-tastic?"

Eyes glittering with amusement at her word amalgamation, he lifted one lithe finger to relieve her forehead of the burden placed on it by a few stray ribbons of hair. "Well, now." A head tilt, and his thumb was on her cheek, giving it two soft strokes. His Adam's apple bobbed like a buoy lost at sea when he spoke. "Where would be the fun in that?"

"Huh?" she asked, surfacing from what felt like some painkiller-induced sleep. He was already gone though, giving her a two-fingered wave from the door as he went through it backwards.

Looking down into her mug of coffee, she suddenly realized she no longer needed the steaming beverage to suffuse her insides with the warmth she'd been missing earlier. If anything she was tempted to ask the waiter for a glass of ice on the rocks.

And keep 'em coming.

"Oh boy."


	5. Never Kill a Boy on the First Date

**Author's Note:** Dialogue from Seasom 1, 'Never Kill a Boy on the First Date'

* * *

><p>Buffy watched as Owen headed off to the bar. Ignored those little twinges of doubt that had been creeping through her ever since he'd made that comment about thinking most girls were so 'frivolous' without realizing he'd sort of been talking about <em>her<em> when he said it. Still, he seemed to be having a good time, and even gave Cordelia the brush-off when she attempted to invade their air space.

Oh yeah. That was another thing. She was definitely aware that Queen C was slumped against a wall nearby, watching both of them with that dagger-shooting glare she probably perfected in the fourth grade. Buffy couldn't lie; it was part of the reason she was having so much fun tonight.

Of course, the mere fact that she was having fun- _any_ fun at all –meant that something would need to step in and crush it. Right about…

"Slayer."

…Now.

A sharp jolt of- something –went through her at the sound of his voice. Instinct wanted to identify it as loathing, but… it was a little too warm for loathing. And that right there was where she'd be ending her analysis. "Spike."

"Figured… well, was hoping I'd find you here."

Again, a jolt that felt… familiar, but entirely out-of-place in this context. Since there was no _way _she was excited to hear that he'd been looking for her. Nuh-uh. Nosiree. "You were?"

His forehead crinkled up. "What, you don't _know_?" A disappointed shake of his head. "Christ… there's some ugly stuff happening tonight. _Harvest_ ugly. And I'm not talking about the Vessel's face." A sigh, and he raised his eyebrows. "You need to be out there," he insisted, reaching for her arm.

"No, not you too," she whined- no, _protested_. Then backed up until she'd placed half of the supporting beam she'd been leaning against between them.

"So, you _do_ know?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. I don't _completely_ suck at this, you know. Prophecy, Anointed One, yada, yada, yada…"

Obviously annoyed by the fact that she wasn't fazed by what he perceived to be news in the epic realm of badness, he clenched his jaw. "Fine. Just thought I'd warn you."

"_Warn_ me?" She didn't know why this seemed so ridiculous, seeing as how it was pretty much the only reason he'd ever made an appearance in her life. At that point, she felt it was important for him to understand that… that sometimes slayage wasn't the _only_ thing on her agenda. That she had a _life_ she would like to enjoy on occasion. "You see that guy over there at the bar?" She stepped around him to put herself between Spike and Owen. Blocking out one so she could focus on the other. "He came here to be with me."

"You're here on a _date_?"

She swung back around on him. "Yes! _Why_ is that such a shock to everyone?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "It not that you're on a date. It's that you're on a date when-"

"Here you go," Owen's voice was beside her again, and she turned to see him holding a muffin for her.

"Oh. Thank you," she said, offering him a grateful smile as she accepted the doughy goodness. Seeing that he was only halfway focused on her now, what with Spike and his giant light bulb head still just _standing_ there, she realized that she was going to have to make some introductions. Hopefully brief. "Um, Owen, this is Spike. Spike, this is Owen." And then, to make sure there was no misunderstanding here, she wrapped her arm around his back. "Who is my date."

_My get-the-hint-and-just-_leave _date_, she finished in her head, glaring at Spike. _Because _I _definitely don't plan on going anywhere_. _Especially if it's with you_.

Spike looked equal parts furious, frustrated, and amused, the three emotions warring on his face for a half-minute. When he finally chose one, Buffy wasn't sure if she should be relieved or terrified that he'd gone with amusement. "Right then, Slayer. Let's have a look at the boy."

God, did he _have_ _to_ hook his thumbs in his beltline like that?

"Nice to meet you," Owen said- such a gentleman –and stuck out his hand.

Which the peroxided pest just stared at like he was offering him a handful of Ebola virus. A look he hid well, what with that lingering amusement, but Buffy was- reluctantly, _unfortunately_ –starting to figure out the subtleties in his facial expressions. "I like him, Slayer. He's got…" Head tilt, right on cue. "What's the word? Vulnerability."

Owen dropped his hand at that, and Buffy glanced up to see that he didn't seem affected by Spike's taunting. Instead he turned a puzzled look on her. "Did he… just call you 'Slayer'?"

"Uh…" Buffy's eyes went wide. _Did he_? She glared at Spike, who just shrugged.

Not his problem.

"And you're _Spike_? Man, those are some pretty weird nicknames."

"Yes!" she agreed with him, perhaps too quickly. "That they are! Nicknames. Weird ones. A-and… and the reason we have these nicknames for each other is because…" _think, Buffy brain, think!_

She remembered then what she'd said to Spike when he told her that was the title he preferred to go by. Or, more accurately, what she'd said after _laughing_ at him about it… "Because I'm in a band! _We're_… in a band. A rock band. Together. Spike and me." She shot him a look.

He seemed too content to follow through with her fib, no doubt because he expected there'd be some pyrotechnics to go along with it. "Right. Yeah. She plays the… the triangle-"

"Drums."

"Drums. Yeah." A sideways grin. "She's hell on the old skins, you know." Somehow, he managed to look like he actually meant it. Like he was proud of her for some talent she'd manufactured for herself less than two seconds ago.

"Really?" Owen's face brightened as he looked between the two blondes. "Wow! So… what do you do?" he asked Spike.

"Well, I sing." As if it should've been obvious.

"Cool," he said, looking down at Buffy to offer her a smile. "Do you guys play any shows around here? I mean, at the Bronze? I know a couple other bands from school sometimes-"

"Oh, no. It's mostly just… garage band stuff," she cut in.

"Oh. Well… it'd be cool to hear you sometime. Or, hey! Maybe we could-"

"Buffy!"

"Look at this!" Owen commented when Xander and Willow came rushing at them. "First Buffy's house, and now here. You two show up everywhere, don't you?" They both just nodded in response, still catching their breath. "Seems like you're having a busy night."

Xander pointed at Owen. "You don't know the half of it," he muttered, picking up on the other male's hint of sarcasm. Then he turned to Spike, although when he spoke it was clear that his question was aimed at Buffy. "What's he doing here?"

Spike raised an eyebrow at them. "Guessing the same thing _you're_ doing here."

All right. Spike, she could handle. Sort of. But having pretty much everyone she knew in Sunnydale busting in on her date? _Not_ okay. "Um, excuse me… what are _any_ of you doing here?" she asked, at this point holding on to Owen like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning in her own destiny.

"Look, we gotta get to, uh," Xander flinched, covering up the look of pain that flashed across his face. Buffy guessed it was because Willow's foot had just connected with his shin. "Uh. We thought it'd be fun if, uh, we made this a double date!"

Without any communication between them, the two best friends threw their arms around each other. Buffy knew _exactly_ what they were doing, but the rather significant part of her that did _not_ appreciate having her first legitimate date since coming to this town crashed by them, wanted to make them really _commit_. "I didn't know you two were dating."

Unfortunately, they seemed happy to oblige. Willow smiled, offering a shrug. "Oh, yeah, well… we knew it would happen eventually, so we figured hey! Why fight it?" Of course, there was no question why _she_ was so enthusiastic about this charade.

"And you guys are thinking double? With us?" Owen inquired, so incredibly clueless about the vortex that was swirling around them.

"'Cause of…" A nervous laugh from Xander. Because he had to try and look sincere when he said, "the fun!"

Owen turned to Spike then. "And you're here because of… band practise?" he ventured.

"You know what'd be cool?" Xander interjected, determined to keep them on task. "The Sunnydale Funeral Home!"

"I've always wanted to go there!" Willow agreed, the perfect supporting actress.

Spike snorted. "Subtle," he muttered. Luckily, no one was listening to him.

"The funeral home?"

"Actually, that sounds kinda cool!" Owen jumped in. "Do you think we could all sneak in?"

Okay, the fact that _this_ was now the most excited she'd seen her date all night? Not a good sign.

"Well, we saw some guys go in there before. _They_ seemed to be _having fun_," Xander said, directing those last two words at her.

Crap. She knew what that look meant. Vampires. Actual, legitimate vampires whose existence Giles had apparently _not_ miscalculated. "Bite me!" she muttered under her breath. Looked up to Spike with some irrational hope that _he_ might be able to rescue her from this. Even though he'd come to drag her into it in the first place. He just stared at her with a look that said _I told you so… and now I'm quickly losing interest_.

Knowing that she was now little more than a tuna fish tangled up in a fisherman's net, she turned to her date. "Um, Owen, I gotta go."

"I thought we were going to the funeral home."

"No, you can't come with us." _And I can't tell you why_. "This is… We're…" she looked down, sighing, getting a glimpse into what the rest of her life would be like. Lying to the guy she was with, coming up with excuse after excuse as to why she had to disappear into the night for a few hours.

Not to mention explaining afterwards why her clothes were torn to shreds and she had blood dripping down her forehead.

Closing her eyes against that onslaught of images, doing her best to block them out, she looked back up at him. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?"

"Buffy," he said with a frown, gently leading her a safe distance away from her unwanted entourage. "What's the deal? Is this you trying to bail on me?"

"No! _No_…" she said with a little shake of her head. "It's really, _really _not." She struggled to think of a way to explain this to him. "Do you remember when you said I was like two different people? Well, one of them has to go. But the other one is having a really, really good time, and _will_ come back. I promise." She knew she sounded a little desperate, a little _too_ eager to convince him, but he was her _date_, dammit! She'd slay the vampires if she had to, but she wanted to make sure she had something to look forward to once the world was safe again.

After a long moment in which he seemed to be weighing her words, and measuring them against the sincerity she hoped was painted across every square inch of her face, Owen nodded his understanding. "Okay," he murmured.

"Okay," she agreed with a smile.

Feeling as though she were removing a particularly sticky bandage, she tore herself away from his presence. From his delicate gaze and his warm-and-cozy embrace. From the first _normal_ night she'd had in way too long…

Reaching the back door with her friends, she tossed one last glance at him, and it was then that she noticed Spike following them.

"What are you doing?" she growled as she spun on him, planting her feet into the concrete floor, arms crossed.

Having to pull up quickly to avoid smashing into her, he looked from her, to her friends, to the back door. "Uh, I'm coming with you."

"_Aha_, no you're not."

"Why not?"

"Because I do _not_ want to have to worry about watching _your_ ass while we're…" she glanced around at the small crowd that surrounded them, editing her words in that last instant so as to not to draw any attention to herself. "Doing what we're going to do."

"You're letting Thing One and Thing Two tag along," he argued, jabbing his finger at them.

"Willow and Xander know what they're doing. You?" she scoffed. "With all the warnings you seem so excited to give me about the creepy crawlies in this town, I have yet to see you jab even a pinky finger at any of them. So I'm thinking you're more of a bench-warmer than a starter."

Truth was, Buffy wouldn't normally be so quick to turn down a little more backup, whether he was experienced or not. However, she was peeved by the fact that he'd tracked her down mid-date to deliver yet another dire message. Willow and Xander she could forgive, but Spike still had a long way to go before he managed to take out a mortgage on her good side. Telling him he couldn't come along seemed just about the only way to punish him.

It seemed to be working, too. This was perhaps the first time she'd ever actually seen him _angry_. Jaw clenched, eyes still narrowed, a few harsh breaths blasted through his flared nostrils. "Fine. Let me know how all this works out for you then, love. Won't be surprised if I'm reading your obituary come Thursday morning."

Keeping her gaze impassive, she stared him down for a few more seconds, until Willow murmured her name, telling her they should really be going.

"Yeah. I'm coming."

* * *

><p><em>Additional dialogue from Season 2, 'Becoming, Part II', and Season 4, 'The Harsh Light of Day'<em>


	6. The Pack

**Auth****or's**** Notes**:

-Some dialogue from Season 1, 'The Pack'

-Thank you to everyone who has been reading/favourited this story/reviewed. I really hope you enjoy this chapter :)

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><p>Even though, from her own observation of the situation, she wasn't sure there was really any reason to hope, Buffy loved watching her best friend- and yes, she was referring to Willow that way now, Xander too –talk about her crush. Who, incidentally, was Xander. The time they'd spent as friends during which Willow <em>didn't<em> know that Buffy was the Slayer had been brief, and girly conversations like these helped reassure her that their friendship was built on something other than the redhead's eagerness to help in her cause.

"He makes my head go tingly," Willow was saying with a look that indicated she really didn't _mind_ such a sensation. "You know what I mean?"

"I dimly recall," she said with a wry grin, looking up as though she were searching for the memory itself on the ceiling somewhere.

"But it hasn't happened to you lately?"

Buffy felt guilty for a moment, having steered the conversation back towards her own guy troubles. Or, more accurately, her not-having-guy troubles. But ever since the Owen fiasco she'd been getting real comfortable in this mopey little rut she'd dug for herself, and she wouldn't mind a bit of company for a minute or two. "Not of late."

Willow seemed unwilling to cooperate with her. She fixed her with those green eyes that, despite their innocence, seemed to take in a lot more than she often let on. "Not even for a dangerous and mysterious older guy whose lighter you're fiddling with right this second?"

"He left it here when I saw him last week," Buffy protested, shoving the metal prism back into her pocket. She hadn't even realized she was holding it. "Of course, it's his own fault. He lit up in here even though it's _clearly_ no smoking allowed, and then actually had the nerve to act all angry-insulted-customer when they asked him to leave."

"Buffy, come on," Willow insisted, giving her a little nudge with her foot. "Spike pushes your buttons. You _know_ he does."

"Yeah, like some kid who's just jumped on the elevator in a forty-story building and decides he wants to visit _every single floor_ on the way up. You know, the one you'd probably want to strangle if his Mom wasn't standing right there?" She picked the end off her croissant and chewed on it, continuing her rant. "Plus, I mean, what's with the whole Billy Idol thing, anyway? He does realize that it's just _rude _to steal someone _else's_ look and then actually do a better job of pulling it off than they do, right? And…" she hazarded a glance up at her companion. "And you're not buying _any_ of this, are you?"

"Not even a little bit."

"All right. Fine. I'll admit that there _is_ some button-pushing that's not entirely of the bad, and… I _suppose_ some girls might find him good-looking, if they… you know, happen to have eyes and are conscious, but…" she sighed. This wasn't good. This was the most she'd let herself admit her attraction- her small, barely even _kind of_ there attraction –to Spike. It was something she really didn't want to be carrying around, because she was pretty sure if she ever attempted to act on it, she'd spend the next forty-five minutes watching him laugh in her face. So, it was time to find some _legitimate_ negatives, and fast. "It's just… he's never actually around, and when he is all he wants to do is talk about vampires and things that are gonna try to kill me that week, and I'm not sure he actually takes me seriously, and… I, I just can't have a relationship-"

"There he is!"

"Spike?" Oh no… had he heard what she'd been-

"Xander!"

Oh.

…Good.

Good. That was… Xander was… Xander was better. Between the two 'he's that Willow could've been referring to, he was definitely the superior option.

Definitely.

|#|+-+-+|#|

A swirling black tornado swept into the seat beside her. The whole piece of furniture buckled as the storm touched down, shuddering as its legs skidded against the concrete floor. A gust of leather-flavoured wind whipped against her cheeks.

Readjusting her clothing, Buffy turned her head to see Spike sitting beside her. Looking comfortable enough that she wondered if someone had liquefied him and poured him onto the cushions. His eyes were bright stars that hung over his open-mouthed smile.

Which, by the way, involved him sticking his tongue out to perch the tip of it on the outer surface of his top teeth.

How was it that he could do these things? Things that would look ridiculous and stupid on any other guy. Things that, frankly, would make her think she should perhaps call a physician… or a good psychiatrist…

Yet on _him_… well… Buffy wouldn't admit this to anyone. She would barely admit it to _herself_, but… they tickled places in her core that she didn't know _could_ be tickled.

"Evening, Goldilocks!"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "And so my night is complete."

He frowned at her. "What? You're not happy to see me?"

"Spike…" she turned to deliver one of her biting comebacks, but instead, all that came out was a defeated sigh.

Tonight, she just wasn't in the mood.

Picking up on her lack of enthusiasm, but apparently taking it as an indication that he should simply pick a new topic to needle her about, he sat up and looked around the club. "So, Slayer, where's that overgrown puppy dog you were tossing the frisbee for last week?"

For a moment, she thought he was confusing her with someone else. Then, she realized what he was talking about.

…_Who_ he was talking about.

Owen.

With all that had happened since their school trip to the zoo a couple of days ago, she barely remembered her brief exploration into the Dating of Normal Guys. Or, well… _guy_. Not plural. Singular.

Very, _very_ singular.

She was surprised that this was the first time he'd asked her about Owen, but the zippo lighter digging into her hip reminded her as to why that was. The only other time she'd seen him since her date night was when he'd gotten kicked out of the Bronze for smoking. He'd barely said two words to her before security was manhandling him out into the back alley.

He'd tossed the lighter to her a second before their arrival. Winked at her, used one of his not-so-cutesy British pet names on her, and asked her to hold on to it for him. Said he was 'bloody fond of it'. Didn't want it getting scratched or dented in the melee.

She had rolled her eyes and informed him that he was about to get his ass kicked. Then slipped the lighter in her pocket for safe keeping. Told herself that the only reason she did so was because if she _didn't_, she would _never_ hear the end of it from him.

Not because she cared about him, or anything having to do with him, or any of his stupid little possessions that were only used to help him smoke the things that were going to end up _killing_ him one day and… that didn't explain why, for the last week and a half, she'd proceeded to carry it around in her pants or backpack or purse or…

What was the question?

"Hm?"

"Your boy scout. The Muffin Man. 'Bout yey tall." He held his arm high up in the air to demonstrate. "Seemed about as intelligent as a shorted-out bread-maker?" He snorted. "And every bit as exciting, too."

"You know, I'm waiting for the day when your description of someone isn't also a huge insult to them."

"In that case, don't hold your breath. Doubt you'd look good in purple."

Buffy responded with narrowed eyes, before she let her gaze fall to the hem of her shirt. Tugging on the edge, she glanced at him again before answering his question. "If you can believe it, he ended up following us to the funeral home. Nearly got himself killed." She laughed then, shaking her head. "Behold the power of my charms."

"Ah. Got scared away, did he?"

"Just the opposite," she said on the tail of another disappointed laugh. "He enjoyed it a little _too_ much. Wanted to know when we could do it again."

She stopped her explanation at that. Having realized that Spike probably wasn't looking for the long-winded, let-me-talk-about-my-feelings explanation as to why Owen was no longer a factor in the equation that was her life. He was probably looking for a short response, about which he could make an even shorter snarky remark.

So, what came out of his mouth next was a bit of a surprise.

"Sorry it didn't work out for you, love."

"Yeah, I'm sure you are." She looked up to give him her best 'could we play this game some other time?' smile, and was shocked by what she saw. A pair of sincere, almost _sympathetic_ blue eyes staring back at her. "Oh. You… you actually _mean_ that?"

"Well," he gave a one-armed shrug. "Maybe I'm not sorry it didn't work out with _him_, but… this life you've got, Slayer… It's tough enough without feeling like you're alone in it."

Buffy found herself paralyzed in that moment. Could do nothing but stare at him as she attempted to comprehend the words that had just come out of his mouth.

…Comprehend the _sincere_ and _supportive_ words that had come out of his mouth.

Part of the reason she didn't say anything for nearly a half-minute was that she was waiting for him to follow it up with something a little more… _Spike_-like.

But… nothing else came.

Until he frowned at her. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You're staring. What is it?"

Shaking herself out of her fugue, she gave him a bemused smile. "I'm sorry. It's just… up until this moment, I wasn't sure that you were _actually_ human."

Spike bit his bottom lip as he laughed at that comment.

When he didn't say anything in response, she started to wonder if perhaps she'd offended him. Here he was, just trying to make her feel better about the whole Owen situation, and she'd turned it around and used it against him.

Hoping to kick-start their clearly deceased conversation, she reached into her pants pocket and pulled out the only lifeline she had at her disposal. "By the way… since I'm guessing you're going through some serious nicotine withdrawal without it… here's your lighter back."

He smiled at her as he extracted it from her grasp. "Kept it for me all this time, did you, love?" Turning it over in his hands, he flicked it open and closed. Open again. Brought the flame to life for a brief moment, then closed it up and shoved it into his pocket. "Thanks ever so."

"Yeah, well… you're just lucky my Mom never found it. Not only would it have ended up in the garbage, but I probably would've been grounded until the end of forever."

"Not a fan of smoking, is she?"

"Well, that…" Buffy raised her eyebrows, bottom lip flopping into a thoughtful pout. "And, it could also have something to do with the fact that I… sort of got kicked out of my last school for burning down the gym."

"_What_?" he asked, his face exploding into a look of giddy surprise. "You _lie_!"

"I don't."

"You _burned down_…?"

"Uh-huh."

"The _entire_…?"

"Yup." A short pause as she let him absorb this information. "And I was wearing a dress when I did it, too."

Spike gaped at her for what felt like another full minute before he shook his head, blowing out a sharp stream of air. "You just became the world's perfect woman."

"Really? Arson? _That's_ your big turn-on?"

"Well, I assume there were vampires involved."

"You assume right."

"There you go then. Mass slaying by fire. Doesn't _get_ better than that."

Buffy tried to frown, but she was too busy laughing at him. He was _such_ a weirdo. A fact she was only too happy to inform him of.

"Glad you think so, sweetness." His smile told her he meant it.

She whacked him on the arm, and settled further into her seat. Tried to ignore the small, glowing ball of warmth in her chest. It had only been ignited when Spike arrived, and that just _couldn't _be a good thing. Because it meant he was the _cause_ of said glowyness, and Buffy was still quite happy telling herself she didn't- and never _would_ -think of him that way. Never ever.

"So… what are you doing over here, all by your little lonesome?" He nodded his head toward the dance floor. "Came with your mates, didn't you?"

Buffy followed his gaze to where Xander and Willow were dancing. Her two best friends in the world. One of whom had attempted to force himself on her yesterday.

As the memory trickled through her brain, a shudder chased after it.

She knew that it wasn't Xander who was responsible for his actions. She _knew_ it. Knew that it was the animal, the demon, the _thing_ inside of him that had made him say the things he'd said, and do the things he'd done.

Still, it was Xander's body that had plastered itself to hers. Xander's hands that had stapled her wrists to the floor. Xander's voice that had spoken those acidic words about what she wanted in a guy, about the fact that he had _become_ just that. Xanders lips that had scorched the delicate landscape of her flesh…

Talking with him, she could do. Hanging out with him at school, laughing and joking like the whole thing had never happened. Yeah, she could go along with that. After all, even if he didn't remember it, recovering from what he'd gone through had to be tough enough without having one of his good friends completely shut him out.

…Dancing with him though? Having her body anywhere near his, in what could be described as an even slightly vulnerable position?

That might take another day or two.

It just… didn't feel quite right yet.

Turning to look at Spike, in the midst of reminiscing on the last couple of days, something struck her as odd.

During his bout of hyena-induced insanity, Xander had described Spike as dangerous. Mean. A guy who could and probably _would_ hurt her someday, be it physically or emotionally.

Strange thing was though… when she looked at him, when she sat next to him like this, Buffy didn't feel any of that. Sure, he had the whole bad boy image working for him; with the bleached hair and leather and smoking in places he wasn't supposed to. The scar over his eyebrow suggested he'd been in at least a few good fist fights in his life…

But around him, Buffy felt safe. Not necessarily in the sense that he could or would protect her from anything. Especially since, with Slayer strength behind her, she could probably beat up anyone or anything better than he could.

It was more that… something about him… made her feel like he would never try to hurt her. Never even _think_ about it.

It was… a vibe she got.

He slung barbs her way often enough, delivered more than an ample supply of veiled insults to her, but that was all just surface stuff. Stuff that didn't matter.

When it mattered, Buffy thought… if such a situation ever presented itself, when it _really mattered_… Spike would do right by her.

…How weird of a thought was _that_?

Pulling herself out of her reverie, she gave him a half-hearted smile. "Yeah. We came together. I'm just… not in much of a mood for dancing tonight. Think I ate something funky at lunch," she lied. Scrunched up her nose a little though just to make it convincing.

"Ah. American cafeteria food. Raising the bar for the culinary arts across the world."

Buffy laughed, rolling her eyes.

"So, does this mean you'll keep me company for a little while longer?"

"_Me_ keep _you_ company?" she asked, eyebrows vaulting up toward the ceiling. "Uh, _you're_ the one who sat down next to _me_, buster. If anyone's the company-keeper, it's _you_."

"You really are a stickler for the details, aren't you Summers?"

"The stickleriest," she agreed with a single, sharp nod.

A sigh, although the amused smile he wore told her he wasn't actually annoyed. "All right. Can _I_ keep _your_ wonderful self company then?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Do you think you can manage not to say anything insulting, annoying, or obnoxious while you're here?"

Spike just stared at her. The barest hint of amusement shining in his eyes.

"Right," she said with an apologetic nod of her head. "I forgot. That's like asking you not to breathe. Never mind."

"So… I can stay then?" he asked after she didn't say anything further on the subject.

"Yeah Spike," she nodded, reaching down to grab the last remains of the cookie she'd been munching on for a good twenty minutes now. "You can stay."


	7. William

**Author's**** Notes: **As you know, this 'chapter' correlates with the episode 'Angel'. It is a BEHEMOTH. Over 18,000 words, in fact. So, I'll be posting it in three parts. That said, technology is notoriously vindictive towards me, so this might be a somewhat lengthy/difficult process.

I really, really, really hope you enjoy this chapter. Will literally be biting my nails.

Some dialogue from Season 1, 'Angel'. There is also a reference/homage to Season 5, 'Checkpoint'.

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><p>"What's it like where <em>you<em> are?"

…Oh. Uh oh. She was being drift-o-girl. "I'm sorry." She really was. She did this far too often in Willow's presence; it was unbelievable that she hadn't given up on her by now. "I was just… thinking about things."

"So we're talking about a guy?"

Was she really that transparent? Maybe. Or, maybe Willow's accurate aim had to do with the fact that this was pretty much all she'd been able to think about or focus on since… well, pretty much since arriving in this town completely alone.

"Not exactly _a_ guy. For us to have a conversation about a guy, there'd have to be a guy for us to have a conversation about." Then, realizing she was in the presence of someone who they'd need to invent a whole new GPA scale for once senior year came around, she felt the need to add, "Is that a sentence?"

Willow didn't seem to notice though, or care. She just smiled that supportive smile she always had to offer when their conversation steered back in this direction. "You lack a guy."

"I do. Which is fine with me, most of the time, but…"

But… what?

But… despite the fact that she had Xander and Willow and a couple of other peripheral friends, there was a part of her that still felt so… _isolated_.

But… it'd be nice to know that there was _some_ hope of ever finding a boyfriend, even a _temporary_ one, on the Hellmouth.

But… with her job, she often found herself yearning for someone to go home to at night. Someone who would make her forget- for a little while, at least –about the real, legitimate, eat-you-alive evil that she faced every night, and just kiss everything better… even if he had no idea he was playing that kind of a role in her life.

But… she'd like some proof that this whole Slayer gig wasn't putting a serious kibosh on her ability to date ever again. Which she was starting to suspect might be true. How could she ever be with someone who didn't- _couldn't_ –know so much about what she was? How would she ever explain the bruises, the cuts, the scrapes he was sure to find on her body? How could she find someone who wouldn't go screaming in the opposite direction when he found out she possessed ten times his strength, and had performed more than a few decapitations in her time?

"What about Spike?"

"Spike?" Buffy wasn't about to admit that his name _had_ been popping up in her musings on the subject, although she always pushed it away in the same instant.

Spike was… not an option. He just wasn't. For one thing, he was older than her… and he probably didn't see her as anything more than an outlet for the information he seemed so adept at obtaining when it came to Sunnydale's underworld, and… there was just no way.

"I can just see him in a relationship. 'Hello, love, just popped on by to say you're in grave danger. Oh, and… you have stupid hair.'"

"He does seem to be a fan of the mixed messages."

"The mixiest! And, I hate it because… well, does it make me a total freak that I'm kind of starting to enjoy it?" she asked, not sure what answer she wanted from her best friend. "I mean… even though we're usually all about the bickering, whenever he's around, it's like I'm looking at a picture and he's the only thing that's in focus. You know how it's like that with some guys?"

"Oh yeah," Willow agreed without hesitation, her eyes immediately drifting toward the dance floor.

"Are you about to head off on a mental vacation of your own?"

"There could be one impending," she said with a grin, shaking the glazed look out of her eyes. "Okay, so… I'm confused. Does this mean that you _do_ like him, then?"

"I don't know," she grumbled. "That's the problem! When he's only ever around for five minutes at a time it's kinda tough to figure out if he's… y'know… _not_ a total jerk with a career delivering crypt-o-grams."

Sure, they'd had that brief encounter last week. When she was still recovering from the hyena-ness that was Xander. Things had stayed pretty light between them though, conversation-wise. They were big on the small talk. Commenting on the music being played, the people passing them by… a little bit more on her torching Hemery High's gymnasium…

All in all though, it wasn't nearly enough evidence to prove that Spike could be anything more to her than a semi-helpful, pseudo stalker-guy.

"Poor Buffy. Hey!" Willow chirped, showing off the ease at which she went from dreary to cheery in less than a half second. "Maybe you should come up with a plan."

"A plan?"

"Yeah… a… get-to-know-him-better plan. You know, maybe make up some fake danger the next time he's around so you've got a chance to hang out, or… something?"

"It's scary how much I'm actually willing to consider that proposition," Buffy mused with a shake of her head. "So, what about you?" she asked then, deciding that she'd already spent a dangerous amount of time stuck on the subject of Spike for one night. "Any progress on Operation: Xander?"

"Oh. Uh-uh. No way. There's no operation," she said. "There's not a plan… not even rough sketches of an idea for a plan. There's just… thoughts. Lots, and… lots of thoughts."

Buffy was about to assure her that she was probably a lot more frightened by Xander than she needed to be- they _were_ best friends, after all –when the boy himself appeared over her shoulder.

"Boy, that Cordelia is a regular breath of _vile_ air. What are you vixens up to?"

"Just sitting here, watching our barren lives pass us by." Somehow, Willow was incapable of making even a line like _that_ sound completely hopeless. "Oh look, a cockroach." She slammed her foot down onto the insect.

"Whoa, well, let's stop this crazy whirligig of fun! I'm dizzy!" Xander said, his excited expression starting to falter.

Perking up long enough to save her friends from becoming fellow victims to the vortex of despair she was swirling down into, Buffy hopped off her stool and gathered up her coat. "All right, now I'm infecting those nearest and dear to me. I'm gonna call it a night."

"Oh, don't go!" Willow protested, back into full cheerful mode.

"Uh, yeah! It's early! We could, um, dance!" Xander agreed, doing his best to nudge her mood to an equal setting of glee.

"Rain check?" she offered, wishing she felt it but just unable to. She tossed them both an apologetic glance. "Good night."

|#|+-+-+|#|

Bad night. Bad, bad night. O_kay, think, Buffy. Think_!

Pinned down by two vamps, another one hovering over her neck. Dumpster straight ahead. Fence behind her. She shuffled her feet around, hoping to make contact with something- _anything_ –that she could use as a weapon.

Couldn't these three bozos have waited to attack her when she _wasn't_ slinking home after a night of contemplating how much her life sucked at the moment?

Dammit! Dammit, dammit, _dammit_! Okay. Head-butt. She'd resort to the head-butt, kick her legs up once he'd been knocked back, and use his chest to push off… or maybe catch him in a head-lock, and then she could…

"Oi! Wanker!"

All three vamps turned to look at the intruder.

_Spike!_

He laughed, a giddy chuckle that rattled around in his throat. "You see that, pet? All three of 'em looked. Guess even vamps can have self-esteem issues."

"Leave us!" the one in front of her commanded.

"Uh, yeah. I'm thinking _not_."

Spike lunged at him, and suddenly, Buffy was aware of nothing but _movement_. She double-kicked at the two who were holding her, and they fell back. Free again, she swung out at whichever one she could hit, and-

"Spike, look out!"

A roar as Vamp Number One hit him with a metal rod, and he went down. Auto-pilot gearing up again, Buffy dispatched Number Two, throwing a kick at Spike's attacker as he drew back to hit him again with the piece of metal.

And then they were both running. No communication as to where, or if Spike was even strong enough to make it. Buffy just steered herself towards home, and he followed.

Revello Drive. Four sets of feet behind her still, one of them closer than the others.

A hundred yards. "Spike!"

"Still with you, where we headed?"

"Home!" she yelled back.

Fifty feet. Thirty. The sidewalk. _God, _her front lawn. Front door.

_Open, _open _damn you!_ "Get in, come on!" she shouted at Spike, grabbing a fistful of his coat and hurling him inside. Then moved to slam the door shut, but a hand reached around the edge. "Ah!" She pushed, pushed, finally smashed her palm against it before he let go. Snapping the lock shut, she looked out the window at the trio. Wondered for a second what they were waiting for…

"It's all right," Spike was panting beside her, bent forward slightly. "Vamp can't get in unless you invite him."

"Yeah, I've heard that before, but can't say I've been eager to put it to the test." Leaning back against the door, she turned to look at him. Saw the patch of glistening ooze on his black t-shirt, pale skin peeking out from behind the torn material. "Oh."

He followed her gaze, looking down at his injury as if he'd only just remembered it. Tested a finger against the laceration. "Yeah."

"Come on," she said, leading him into the kitchen. "I'll get some bandages, just… take your coat and your shirt off." Uh huh. She'd really just said that. To Spike. To the guy she'd been dwelling on less than a half hour ago.

But… time to focus here. He was hurt. _Badly_.

_While saving my life…_

Pulling out the gauze and medical tape, she heard the sound of clothing behind shucked. Preparing herself for what she was going to see, she turned around, and… _oh_. A smooth- no. Gorgeous- _no_. Muscly? Gah!

A… _nice_… back. Lean and compact. With a trench running down the center of its length, defined by the musculature on either side of his spine. And… _oh_. A nasty-looking scar, the line of discoloured flesh running from the tip of his right shoulder, across the blade, and ending just at the divot she'd been admiring a second before. "Wicked scar," she murmured as she came around to face him.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Forget it's there half the time," he said with a shrug.

"So, you make a habit of this? Is getting flayed some sort of demented hobby of yours?"

"Nah. Coming to the rescue of damsels in distress… that's the hobby. The flaying is just a side effect."

All right. A guy who could grin like that while sporting a four-inch gash along his ribs _had to_ have something wrong with him. "I should warn you," she said, bypassing any response to such a comment. "I don't exactly have the qualifications of a field medic here, so… this might be unpleasant."

Wiping a moist square of gauze around the wound to clean away some of the excess blood, she tried to remain focused on the task of patching him up, instead of on the fact that he was _shirtless_, in her _kitchen_, and that her fingertips were now pretty much in constant contact with his skin. His smooth, soft skin that felt a little too good.

_Stop it, Buffy. Fix him up first, lustybad thoughts later_.

"Don't look so worried, Slayer," he said, prompting her to look up and, _oh_, his face- his _mouth_ –was so close. God, how was it possible for someone to cram gratitude, contentedness, playfulness, seduction, _and_ anxiety into a single smile? "In the words of a great and noble knight… it's just a flesh wound."

Though he sounded rather pleased with himself, as though he'd just made a hilarious joke, Buffy wasn't quite sure where the funny came in. Also, she was a little too focused on what he'd said a moment before. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Call me 'Slayer'."

He frowned at her then, obviously perplexed by the fact that she'd asked such a question. "It's who you are, isn't it?" he asked, head tilted.

Right, well… guess she had her answer about what he saw in her. Apparently he'd never looked at her and seen a _girl_. He'd always just seen the warrior. The part of her deep down inside that-

"Hey." A gentle fingertip on her chin had her looking up into blue eyes that were awash with concern. "I mean… I don't mean that's _all_ you are. It's just… a big part, yeah? The yin to the yang that makes up the rest of you."

"Oh, well. When you put it _that_ way…"

"Look," he said with a shake of his head. "Wasn't trying to-"

They were both diverted by a sound from the front of the house. A key turning in the door.

_Mom_.

Standing where those three vicious vamps had been not even five minutes ago. She ran out to meet her.

"Hi!" Joyce said with a bit of surprise as Buffy pulled her inside. "What's going on?"

_Oh nothing. Just worried that there might be a team of homicidal demons outside waiting for you_. "There's a lot of weird people outside at night," she said instead. "I just feel better with you safe and sound inside." _Gotta_ _keep her away from the kitchen, _she suddenly realized. What with the half-naked boy in there. "You must be beat," she said, pulling her mother towards the stairs.

"I am. We're a little gallery, you have no idea how much-"

"Well then, why don't you go upstairs and get into bed, and I can bring you some hot tea?" Buffy wasn't even sure what she was saying at this point. She was basically just hoping to make words come out of her mouth that would get her mother somewhere that wasn't _here_.

"That's sweet," Joyce said. Then, as if remembering that she was speaking to the daughter of hers that had been expelled from her old school less than a year ago, she adjusted the brightness on her appreciative smile. "What did you do?"

"Can't a daughter just be concerned about her mother?"

Joyce had stopped listening though, her gaze creeping over Buffy's shoulder. "Hi," she said with the look of a mother bear whose den was being intruded upon by predators.

"Hello," said a male voice behind her.

Buffy turned to see Spike standing there, hands shoved into his pockets to keep his coat in a position where it was covering the gash on his side. "Oh!" She wanted to send him the evil dagger-throwing glare of death for making his presence known, but really, Joyce had already sniffed out the fact that something wasn't quite right. "Okay, um… Mom, this is… William. William, this is my Mom."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Summers," he said, stepping forward to offer her his hand. "Hope I didn't startle you."

Whoa. Wait, what? Spike could be _polite_? Spike could be even _marginally_ polite?

"That's all right. It's… nice to meet you too," she answered hesitantly. Then looked between both of them. "Uh, what do you do, William?"

"He's a student."

"Odd jobs, mostly."

Buffy looked at Spike, who looked back at her, when they answered together. Joyce just looked like she was enjoying making them wriggle.

Without even the slightest hint that anything was wrong though, he gave a bashful smile. "Student part-time. I'm here on an exchange at UC Sunny-D from Jolly Old, so you'll have to pardon my complexion," he said, waving at his perpetually pale face. "Meantime I pick up odd work where I can, when I can, to keep the bills paid. Not exactly the high life, but I haven't resorted to living in a cardboard box just yet, so it seems to be working."

"Uh-huh," Joyce said with a nod. "And, how do you know Buffy?"

"William's been helping me with my history. You know I've been toiling there. Willow finally decided she needed backup."

"Caught them out at the Bronze tonight," he filled in for her. "Buffy wasn't feeling so great, and the other two wanted to stay behind, so I told her I'd walk her home. What with all the weirdos marching about at this hour." He threw a look in her direction, and Buffy knew that was his way of grinning at her. "Just came in to phone the roommate, see if he could pick me up and save me the walk home."

"But, it was a no-go," Buffy supplied.

"Bloody 'too busy levelling up, here', he says. 'Can't pause the game for that long or I'll lose everything'," Spike imitated with a roll of his eyes. "No-good layabout."

Confused- but not entirely convinced -by the implication that shey _hadn't_ walked in on anything… unseemly, Joyce smiled. "Oh, well, it was very kind of you to make sure Buffy got home safe. It's getting late though, so I'm gonna go to bed, and, uh, Buffy?"

Catching the hint, she nodded. "I'll say good night and do the same."

Which was true, except for the part where Spike was still standing on _her_ side of the front door when she closed it. They didn't say anything to each other until they'd reached her bedroom.

"Sure this is all right, pet? Don't wanna get you into any more trouble with Mumsy."

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna get you dead. They could still be out there," she answered in a tone that said their debate on the matter was already over. Turning around, she moved a little further into her room, and only then did she notice the slight flaw in her plan. "So, uh, heh… two of us, one bed. That doesn't work."

"Sure it does, pet. No reason we can't share."

Buffy rolled her eyes, turning back to face him. "All right, if you're actually going to spend the night in here, can you put a leash on your verbal indecency? Unless you're _trying_ to find a reason for me to throw you out the window."

After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can hold it in for one night," he said, grinning.

"Good. Okay then, um… why don't you take the bed? Y'know, you're wounded."

"I'll take the floor," he said, shaking his head and moving over to her desk. He started picking up whatever his fingers came in contact with- her cosmetics, her hair brush, the random knick knacks that were scattered across the horizontal surfaces –and inspecting them. Turning them around, sniffing at anything that might give off an odour.

"Uh, no, that's not…"

"Believe me, I've had worse when I've been in worse condition," he said, turning from his task long enough to shoot her a wry grin.

"I… um… okay then, uh…" When he picked up her diary, she rushed forward and snatched it away. "God, would you _stop_? You're like a little kid!" He just giggled at her. Which only proved her point. "Look, how about you go check and see if the Fang Gang is still loitering, and keep your back turned while I change?"

Spike looked like he wanted to say something suggestive at that point, and only reeled it in at the last possible second. Instead he nodded and headed for the window, fingers sneaking between the slats in the blinds and wedging them open. "I don't see them," he reported as she peeled off her shirt.

"Y'know, I'm the Chosen One, it's my job to fight guys like that. What's your excuse?"

Another little chuckle. "What else is there to do for fun around here?"

_Fun_? "Oh gee, I don't know… shopping, hanging out with friends, amateur bowling league… gouging out your own eyeballs… crocheting class?"

"Already gave that last one a try. Didn't have the patience for it."

Fully dressed again, she turned around to see him still smiling at her. She sighed, stepping towards him. "Seriously though."

"Seriously?" He shrugged, glancing out the window again. "Just seems like the thing to do." He slid a sidelong glance at her. "Your chums… they're involved too, aren't they?"

"Well, yeah, but… Xander and Willow, they don't actually get in on any of the _fighting_. They're mostly about the research and stake whittling."

"Got yourself a regular sweat shop, have you Slayer?"

"_Spike_," she snapped at him. "Could you _please_. _Stop. Calling_ me that," she raged, only half-serious but still adding a couple of whacks to his arm.

"Doubt it," he answered with a smirk. He squared off with her then, looking her up and down with a quick huff. "Look at you, then. You're even gorgeous when you go to sleep."

Shell-shocked by the point-blank complement, her only defense mechanism in this sort of situation activated: deflection. "Well, when I wake up it's an _entirely_ different story." She moved around her bed then, plucking off a couple of throw pillows and dropping them on the floor in front of her nightstand. Followed them with the warmest-looking blanket she had on her bed besides her comforter. "Here you go. It's not much, I'm sorry-"

"It's plenty," he assured her with a dismissive wave, kicking off his boots.

Buffy climbed into bed then, fighting the urge to tell him that he should just climb up with her after all. Maybe they _could_ share… if he promised to stay on top of her comforter. Nothing inappropriate about that, right? She kept her lips shut tight though as he settled down on the floor beside her, stretching out like a contented feline, the arm on his uninjured side stretching up to cradle his head. Doing her best to relax with him at such a close proximity, she decided she needed to say something- _anything_ –before they drifted off. It was only polite…

"Spike?"

"Mm?"

"Do you snore?" _Oh, _great _choice, Buffy!_

"I don't know," he said, the smile audible in his voice. "Been a long time since anyone's been in a position to let me know."

From his grin, she couldn't tell if he'd said it just to please her, or because it was actually true. Either way, she smiled back.

Bad question… _good_ answer.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Merph. Too much sunlight. Too much _morning_ in general. Rolling over, Buffy tossed a one-eyed glare at her alarm clock, gauging how much longer she could stay in bed before she would be forced to get up. Yawning, she brought one hand up to rub open her other eye, which was still stuck shut with sleepiness.

At that moment, her brain had revved up enough that she remembered what happened the night before. Getting chased down by the vamps, running home with Spike, patching Spike up, and Spike sleeping…

Buffy looked down to see him gazing up at her, dimples puckered around his bemused smile. She'd never seen his eyes in the daylight before… how it was possible for them to be any bluer than they already were, she had no idea, but… there they were. Being all blue.

"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleepiness.

"Morning," she croaked out. Then, remembering the type of wake-up call she got most days out of the week, she shot a glance at her door. "My Mom…?"

"Heard her go downstairs about ten minutes ago. Don't worry… was ready to jump behind the door or into your closet if I heard her coming in."

"Right… um, thanks. Listen, speaking of which, there's something I kind of didn't think about until just now. Thursdays are when my Mom usually works from home. You know, catching up on paperwork and stuff? Might make an escape sort of tricky today. Normally I go out my window, but if you try it in the daylight, that probably won't end in a way that doesn't involve the police."

"No worries," he said with a shrug and a light laugh. "I'll stay put… if I hear her head out at any point I'll follow behind."

Buffy wasn't sure how she felt about having Mister Fidget around up here all day, but… given the choice between her mother finding out she'd had a cute, _older_ boy in her room all night, and having him break a couple of her trinkets in his boredom, she'd take the broken trinkets. "Okay. So… you might still be here when I get back?"

"Could be. You putting in a request?"

"Shut up." She threw another pillow down at him.

"Oi! Injured here!"

"Yeah. How's that feeling?"

"Better already. Like I said last night, just a bad scrape is all."

"Good." She nodded. "I should, um… Probably do the shower thing now- and _no_ I don't need you to keep me company," she said before he had the chance to make the suggestion. Climbing out of bed, she picked out her clothes for the day, grabbed her hair brush, and headed for the bathroom.

"You lied, y'know," he said just as she was about to pull her door open.

Buffy turned to look at him, frowning. "Huh?"

"Told me you're not gorgeous come morning time. Obviously you've never actually _seen_ yourself in the morning to have said a thing like that. If you ask me, nothing's further from the truth."

Escaping into the hallway before he could watch the bloom of crimson on her cheeks, Buffy realized it was going to be sort of tough for her to eat breakfast this morning. What with her heart sitting in her throat and all.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Xander was equal parts outraged and flabbergasted. "He spent the night? In your room? In your _bed_?"

Only now did Buffy realize this revelation was meant for female ears only. "Not _in_ my bed, _by_ my bed." Especially since female ears were apparently the only ones capable of comprehending the actual words that came out of her mouth.

"That is so romantic! Did you, uh…" Willow probably wouldn't have been able to wipe the smile off her face, even if Cordelia had chosen that moment to walk in. "I mean, did he, uh…"

"Perfect gentleman," she said. Then, remembering who she was referring to, felt the need to add a little footnote. "I mean… y'know… considering it's _Spike_ we're talking about here. There might've been some attempts at suggestive… suggestyness, but after I shut that down, _then_ came the perfect gentleman."

"Buffy, c'mon, wake up and smell the seduction!" Xander argued, behaving as though he wasn't even involved in the same conversation as his friends. "It's the oldest trick in the book."

"What? Saving my life? Getting slashed in the ribs?"

"Duh! I mean, guys'll do _anything_ to impress a girl. I once drank an entire gallon of Gatorade without taking a breath." He grinned after that, as though it were something to be proud of.

Willow, of course, supported this opinion. "It _was_ pretty impressive. Although later there was an ick factor."

At that point, Giles came in to cut away the frayed ends of the several different conversations they were having at once, asking her about the vamps she'd run into last night and setting a book down in front of her. "Did they look like this?"

Big. Ugly. Metal padding. "Yeah. What's with the uniforms?" She glanced at Willow. "Spike said it was worth getting injured just to get a couple of punches in on them. 'What kind of self-respecting vamps wear _matching outfits_? Poncy buggers are a disgrace to their kind'."

Willow giggled while Giles winced. "Yes, well… I think the only thing he might find more painful than his injury is the sound of you affecting his accent. Please don't do that again," he begged. Buffy gave him an angry pout. "In any case, it seems you encountered the Three. Warrior vampires, very proud and very strong."

Buffy nodded, half listening to the back-and-forth between her friend and Watcher that ensued, until her mind pinged on the sound of him using the word 'weapons'. _Ooh_. Before she could inquire though, Xander was putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy, you should stay at my house until these Samurai guys are history."

"What?"

"Ah-ah-ah, don't worry about Spike, Willow can run to your house and tell him to get out of town fast."

Buffy had a feeling that if he gave him a chance, Xander might actually _like_ Spike a little. They had the same stunning gift for subtlety.

"Spike and Buffy are not in any immediate jeopardy," Giles explained. "Eventually the Master will send someone else, but in the meantime, the Three- having failed –will no doubt offer their own lives in penance."

Well, good news all around. Although… "But, we can still do the weapons training, right?"

|#|+-+-+|#|

Even though it would mean spending another night worrying that her mother might walk in and find him, Buffy was a little disappointed to find her bedroom empty that evening. Still, she could've sworn she heard something hit the floor up here during dinner. "Spike?" She tried anyway.

"Hello, pet." He precipitated out of the shadows next to her window.

Reaching over, she switched on the lamp at her desk. She was somewhat surprised that, given how long he'd spent up here by himself today, it- and everything else in her room –was still in one piece. "Brought you some dinner," she said, holding up the Ziploc bag as she brought it to him. "It's a little plateless, sorry."

"Plateless is fine. Any chance you've got a bottle of hot sauce stashed up here though?"

"Uh, that'd be a no."

"Get what you pay for, I suppose," he said playfully.

Buffy smiled back. "So, what did you do all day?"

An amused snort. "Played about fifty games of solitaire. Glad you had that deck of cards stashed in your nightstand, let me tell you. Read a little. Gotta say though, Slayer. For a girl who spends so much time in a library, you should really try going for something-"

"My _diary_?" She exploded, having stopped listening to him when she glanced at her desk to find it out of place. "You read my _diary_?" Realizing that at this point it wouldn't make any difference, she rushed over to shove it in the desk drawer anyway.

"Might've skimmed through it."

"That is _not_ okay, Spike! A diary is like a person's most private place!"

"Well, I wouldn't say it's their _most_ private-"

"Shut up!" How could he be making _jokes_ about this? If he were a demon she'd have clocked him by now. "You don't even know what I was writing about, okay? When I said 'jungle cat', I wasn't talking… I meant it in a _bad_ way. And, and when it says that your grin is 'melty', I meant to write 'lopsided'."

Looking amused, he tried to interrupt. "Buffy…"

"And 'S' doesn't even stand for Spike, for that matter," she insisted, not stopping despite his attempts. "It stands for… Samuel. A charming boy at school who also just moved here from out of town, so that whole fantasy part has nothing to even do with you at all-"

"I didn't read it, pet," he said, laughing now. "Mother Bear moved your diary when she came in to straighten up. I watched from the closet. I didn't read it, I swear." He had his hands up in surrender, perhaps looking the most sincere she'd ever seen him.

"Oh," she murmured, not quite sure what to say to _that_, especially after _she'd_ just said… pretty much everything else. "Oh."

"Thanks for the Coles Notes version, though. It was _very_ informative."

When she looked up at him, she saw him wearing that grin he'd last adorned the night he'd inquired about the extreme deadness of the Wolverine vamp. The one where his lower jaw slid forward so he could run his tongue over his teeth, with those eyes of his drilling into her. "You…" She said, attempting to hold on to the rage boiling inside her while in other parts of her body, _that look_ was causing a whole lot of lights to start blinking on switchboards that had been dormant for quite a while now. "You are so… _so…_" Unable to find a fitting word, she growled instead. Rushed forward to punch him in the shoulder. "I can't believe that you… what is _wrong_ with you?" she yelled, as loudly as she could without alerting her mother.

"Oh, come on now, pet," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "You're the one that ran off at the mouth. Didn't _ask_ you to repeat what's written down."

"I only said that because I thought you'd already…" She wanted to hit him again. Except he _was_ injured, so one Slayer shot for the night was probably all that could be considered fair, but _still…_ "I _hate_ you!"

"You _like_ me," he fired back, suddenly serious, and purposely stepping forward to invade her space.

Oh, this was not good. From here, not only did he have the visuals going for him, but now she was also getting an olfactory telegram. Leather and the fading scent of cigarettes, mixed with some sort of cologne and an earthy smell that had to be just _him_.

…What was she angry about again? Oh yeah. Diary reading. The reading of her diary. "I don't."

"You _do_." Taking another half-step toward her, he plucked her hairband out of her hair and tossed it onto her bed. Once his fingers were free, he reached two of them up to thread through the loosened tendrils. "So, I'm like a jungle cat, am I?"

Crap. He remembered her saying that? "I… Well, not _exactly_ like… a…" She tried to form a coherent protest, but the feel of his digits weaving through her hair, however slight, was… it was like her insides were a big pot of soup, and he was the wooden spoon stirring through it.

"It's all right," he assured her, whispering now. He'd become more bold, running his whole hand through the golden ocean of her tresses. Resting it against the back of her skull during one pass to tip her head up towards him. "Quite the ferocious little tiger yourself, you know. Makes us a matching pair, doesn't it?"

His breath dripped down onto her lips, cool and sweet. He must've raided her chocolate stash a little while ago.

He was so close now. So close.

When he spoke, the very edges of his lips brushed against hers, tickling the nerves in her flesh to an excited frenzy. She didn't realize that she'd leaned into him a bit, until her hand came up to rest flush against his chest, stopping her from falling forward into him. _God_, could he hear that… _thundering_?

No… probably not. It was coming from her chest, not from outside. But it was so _loud_.

"Spike," she gasped against him, a plea for him to just… just _do something_ already.

"Not sure this is a good idea, Slayer," he teased her, though he pressed his lips to hers tentatively, pulling back in the same instant.

_No! More more more staystay_…

"Mum could walk in at any second."

"No! No, she's… busy…"

"Right. I forgot. Paperwork and all that. You sure though? Thought I heard her-"

"Spike, shut _up_!" Buffy growled, then hauled him against her with an excited, relieved gasp. Even still, their first kisses were gentle. Exploratory. His lips moved over hers like raindrops over lush green foliage. No space between them but the touch still delicate and unassuming.

"Mm," she murmured against him when his arms went around her, a cool jetstream of tinglies following his fingers as they trickled down her spine.

When his tongue begged for entrance to her mouth, she granted it without hesitation. He groaned into her, the sound emanating from somewhere deep within his chest. His own mouth, and his tongue as it massaged hers, was cooler than she expected. A welcome balm against the sizzling storm that was building inside of her. His fingers were still threading through her hair, fisting and twirling it in every direction, and something about it made her feel entirely _possessed_ by him in that moment.

She didn't realize that he'd been walking them backwards until her back hit the doors of her closet. "Ah! Be careful!" she gasped, and his mouth was already on her throat. Painting an icy cool trail down her neck. She had to fight through the sensations buzzing in her core just to form a coherent protest. "My Mom might be busy, but she's _ten_ _feet_ down the hall."

"Sorry, love…" Blunt teeth nibbled on the arch between her shoulder and her neck. She could feel him smiling against her. "Getting a bit carried away, I suppose," he panted.

Every muscle in her body tensed up when she felt his tongue flicker against her earlobe. "Oh _God_," she choked out, feeling her fingers dig into his shoulders as her whole body pulsated with pleasure. She wondered if she was hurting him, but couldn't bring herself to care. "Keep…" she breathed, gulping for air. "Keep doing…"

"Not sure if I should, sunshine," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "Seems to me things might get noisy if I do."

"Spike…" his name was the most she could muster.

"What do you say…" he purred against her, reaching up to grasp one of her hands where it was still digging into his shoulder. Threading his fingers through hers, he pressed their joined hands against her closet door. "That you and I," his lips ghosted over hers, teasing.

Frustrated, angry that he was trying to speak instead of continuing to assault her body with pleasure, she reached out and bit down on his bottom lip. Chest rumbling with a chuckle, he obeyed her demand for a moment. Invaded her mouth with his, doing a sweep of her warm, most cavern. Meanwhile, his free hand worked its way up from her hip. Slid slowly, languidly up her body until he was cupping her breast.

When he gave it a firm, loving squeeze, her mouth broke away from his as she let loose a muted groan.

"Let's you and I go out and kill something, love." He finally completed his proposition, voice rough.

Realizing that he'd said something that would require an actual response, Buffy fought to surface from the deep ocean of sensations she was drowning in. "Wh…" she panted against him, emerald eyes attempting to focus on his own crystal blue gaze. "What?"

"We both know I've gotta pull a Shawshank tonight, sweetness. Can't risk spending another night on your bedroom floor," he whispered, nose brushing her ear as his voice tickled her.

"But…" she frowned, attempting to understand what was going on here.

Every nerve in her body was firing signals at her brain. Vibrating beneath the surface of her flesh, waiting to be touched, stimulated. Begging for some part of _him_ to touch some part of _her_ so that… so that she could just _feel_…

For the first time in her life, Buffy understood what it meant to feel _aroused_. As the word, the concept… the _understanding_ of such a concept… shifted through the catacombs of her mind, it was followed by a thrill of excitement.

Right now, in this moment, she could feel her fingertips grazing against what it meant to be a woman. Not a girl, not a teenager, but a _woman_.

A woman who felt strong. Who understood her own body. Who felt _pleasure_. Real, honest, deep down _pleasure_ that was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.

She still had a long way to go before she could actually reach out and fully _grasp _any of those things, but… she had felt them, at least. For a brief moment.

Spike had done that. Spike was the one who'd brought those things to her, and now… Now he wanted to make it stop?

"You… you want to go _patrol_?" she asked with disbelief, finally able to comprehend his words.

Grinning, he stepped back from her. Buffy felt every square inch of her body protest at the loss of his against hers, but she was appeased a moment later when he pulled her with him. Kept his hand clasping hers, and slipped his other one around her waist.

"Come on, love," he continued his attempts at convincing her. He began to guide her across her bedroom floor in a dance to music that neither of them could hear. "We'll go out… take out a couple of baddies…" He paused long enough to grin at her. "And maybe continue this little dance somewhere far, far away from the ears of dear old Mum."

Buffy studied him for a long moment. Tried to figure out if this was something she really wanted. If she _wanted_ this little tryst of theirs to be something that actually had a repeat performance. Something that was more than just an accidental result of them arguing the way they had been.

Biting her lip, she raised her eyebrows at him. "If… if we do go, do you _promise_ to let me handle the actual slaying?"

"'Course."

His response was too quick for it to be believable.

For some reason though, that didn't bother her. Instead of pressing him about it, she reached up to tentatively stroke his lips with hers. Testing to see if the fire was still there.

When she pulled away from the brief contact to find herself already gasping, she gave a quick, sharp nod. "All right. Give me five minutes to change."

|#|+-+-+|#|

All around them, Sunnydale was quiet. Peaceful. Its residents sleeping comfortably in their beds where they'd tucked themselves away for the night.

Meanwhile, a hot, bright ball of energy was vibrating around the two blondes as they marched along the sidewalk. Hands clasped, bodies brushing up against each other with every step they took.

Spike felt his mind roaring with want. With need. _Desire_ more potent than anything he'd felt in close to a century.

Every few seconds he had to purposely restrain himself from grabbing hold of the petite girl he was connected to, and pinning her up against the nearest vertical surface so he could have another taste of her.

He knew that what he was doing was risky. Dangerous. For weeks now he'd been forcing himself not to get too close. Not to get too involved. Not until he had a chance to tell her the truth…

Looked like that plan was well and officially buggered.

Spike knew that he had to come out with it. With the fact of his being a part of the very crowd she was sworn to destroy on a nightly basis. He knew that if he didn't tell her, then eventually the Slayer would figure it out all on her own. Truth be told, he had no idea how his inner demon had gone this long without being detected.

No matter how it happened though, if this went on for much longer… if in the meantime he let them get any more entrenched in each other… then when the truth finally _did_ come out, it would probably kill them both.

Figuratively… and perhaps even literally.

Still though… for now… walking with her like this, having experienced what they had back in her bedroom, and now on their way to what would hopefully be a real good tussle… with her left hand clasped in his right, her palm searing its imprint into his…

Spike just couldn't bring himself to care about anything else.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Buffy's mind… her entire _being… _was throbbing. Megawatts of electricity were coursing through the cells in her brain, lighting up every last building, factory, and remote outpost that _could_ be lit up.

She felt so… _alert_. So alive. So…

_So_ ready to kick some vampire ass.

At some point during their journey, her mind had managed to transform some of her excitement into something that could be stored in her muscles and bones. Siphoning it from the part of her that was purely female, and donating it instead to the warrior that was growing in strength and prominence every day.

Risking a glance up at Spike, she fought back the voice inside of her head that said this was a bad idea. The voice that had been convincing her of just taht since the day she'd met him.

Despite the fact that she felt safe and comfortable and secure around him… despite the fact that he'd just done things to her body, turned her _on_ in ways that no one ever had before… she knew that this couldn't go anywhere.

Spike was older than her. She had yet to ask how _much_ older, but… she knew the answer probably wouldn't be anything she'd want to hear.

She knew that once he started to really get to know her, he'd probably realize just how extraordinary she _wasn't_. Sure, she had the whole Slayer thing going for her, but… it took more than a mutual love of violence against the undead to keep a relationship going.

Buffy wanted to believe otherwise. Wanted to believe that if they woke up tomorrow and still felt the same way they did in this moment, things could _maybe_ work out between them.

Except… the part of her that had watched her parent's marriage crumble before her eyes knew that even _if_ they managed to have some semblance of a relationship, no matter how good it was… eventually, it would end.

Still though… walking with him like this, with the memory of his mouth making her own lips quiver with need, his right hand folded around her left…

Buffy just couldn't bring herself to care about anything else.


	8. The Bloody

**Author'****s**** Notes**: Watch out! **This is the SECOND PART** of this 'episode'/'chapter'. Make sure you read part one first! :)

A/Ns from previous chapter apply here.

* * *

><p>"Spike! What the <em>Hell<em> are you-"

Buffy had to cut herself off as she ducked a right-hook from one vampire while delivering a side-kick to another.

"Just giving you a hand, Slayer," she heard him respond somewhere behind her and to the left.

Upon reaching one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries- she was still learning all their names –they'd only had to wait about twenty minutes until they were jumped by a group of four vampires. Buffy had told Spike to stay back, and done her best to keep their attention on her.

Which had been working, until he yelled a few obscenities at them.

Otherwise known as _purposely engaging the enemy_.

So now, it was a two-on-one fight for both of them.

Backhanding the vampire who'd just swung at her, with both vamps now temporarily incapacitated, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I don't _need_ you to give me a hand. I _need_ you to not get dead!"

Pausing long enough to make eye contact with her, he just snickered.

Outraged by his insubordination, but not really in a position to do anything about it, Buffy set her focus back on her two vamps. At this point, she would just have to trust that if Spike started losing his battle, he'd be smart enough to call out for help.

She yanked her stake out of her back pocket, cocking her arm in preparation for the duo's next attack. Lucky for her, they didn't make it a synchronized effort. When the first one rushed at her, she grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and tossed him aside.

Considering the fact that these vamps had been relying more on numbers than skill to outdo her, she wasn't surprised when all it took was an uppercut to disorient his comrade before driving her stake home.

In the background, she heard the distinctive _whoosh_ of another vamp being extinguished.

Which meant Spike was still okay.

Buffy ran to her other vampire while he was still in the process of getting up. Drove her heel into his jaw, sending him onto his back. His chest exposed, all it took was a quick crouch and the downward snap of her wrist, and he was done too.

Turning around, she caught sight of Spike a few yards away. His back to her, he took a punch in the face from his female foe. Instead of tumbling backwards as she expected him to though, he just laughed it off and socked her in the gut. A few more well-aimed strikes, and she was reduced to a pile of dust.

Although she was relieved to see him as the victor, and a little impressed by the fact that he'd handled himself so well- especially since up until this point, she wasn't sure that he did anything in the fight against evil besides just _talk_ about it –Buffy couldn't tamp down the rage boiling in her chest. This was the problem she'd had with the prospect of dating Owen. Spending her nights in a cemetery with a guy who _thought_ he could handle himself.

Right up until the moment when he got his throat ripped out.

Stalking up to him, she tucked her stake back into her pocket for fear that he'd get her so angry, she might actually attempt to use it on him. "All right. Rule number one if we're gonna make this a regular thing. The minute the fighting starts, _you_ stand back, and let me-"

A nuclear warhead detonated in her chest when he turned around to look at her. Feet planting into the ground deeper than the roots of the trees that surrounded them, she stopped all motion. For a few excruciating seconds, she couldn't do anything. Couldn't move, couldn't breathe, definitely couldn't speak. Could barely _think._ She felt as though time had frozen around her, like that split second of tranquility before the atom split.

Having witnessed the sudden change in her demeanour, Spike cocked his head at her and frowned.

At least, she _thought_ it was a frown… She couldn't tell for sure, what with the… the…

"What?" he asked, obviously confused by the look of horror she was wearing.

Buffy couldn't answer him. She was too busy attempting to comprehend what she was seeing.

Spike appeared to realize what had paralyzed her. His confusion melted away, replaced instead with a look of dread. "Oh, hell. Slayer-"

But she was screaming now. Lungs erupting with terror at the sight of his distorted face. Fangs arching down from his gum line like guillotines flanked by scythes. In that awful moment, the Slayer within her disintegrated. Leaving behind the trembling teenaged girl at her core.

When her vocal cords ran out of fuel, she stood there in silence for another moment. Just staring at him. Too stunned to do anything else. A big part of her hoping that her brain would shake off this horrible hallucination.

It didn't though. She blinked once. Twice.

He…

_It_…

Was still standing there.

"Buffy…" Spike said, holding out a hand as he stepped towards her. "Love… Let me-"

"Stay away from me!" she shrieked, backing up. Breaths coming in hard pants. "Just stay… _Stay_…" She shook her head in disbelief.

Buffy realized that she couldn't make it go away. Couldn't make herself wake up from this nightmare.

So she did the only thing she could do in that moment.

She ran. She ran hard, and she ran fast, and she ran far, far away from what she'd just seen…

Far away from Spike.

Far away from the _vampire_.

|#|+-+-+|#|

By the time Buffy came back to herself, she was leaning against the inner surface of her front door. Her mother was approaching her from the living room.

"Buffy? You're back already?" she inquired. "I thought you were meeting Willow and Xander…" Her look of confusion turned to one of concern as she got nearer. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"Uh," Buffy murmured, blinking a few times as she attempted to wipe away the blur in her vision. "Nothing. I… saw a shadow. Outside. When I was coming home, I…" Realizing after a few moments that this was doing nothing to ease her mother's worried look, or really answer her question, she seized hold of some of the adrenaline still coursing through her blood vessels and straightened up. "I got there and realized I wasn't feeling well. Then on my way home, I got a major wiggins. I'm fine though, Mom."

"All right… well… maybe you should go upstairs to bed then. I'll come check on you later."

She nodded. "Oh… okay. Yeah. Good night."

Drifting upstairs to her bedroom in a stupor, she still had her jacket hanging from one arm when she collapsed onto her bed, eyes fixed on but barely seeing the ceiling that hung over her.

_Oh God_. What… _What_ had just happened?

Spike- William… he'd been here barely an hour ago. Holding her, pouring his soul into her mouth through his lips, lighting a fire within her that had been reduced to a few glowing embers for too long now. And then… then he… then _something_ had…

Joyce's voice echoed in her mind a second time.

'_Buffy, what's wrong?_'

_I don't know. I don't know!_ she answered.

Except… she _did_ know.

Spike was a vampire. Spike… the first guy she'd ever felt herself _truly_ falling for… the guy who made her laugh and made her rage, who'd saved her life, whose mouth had fit against hers so snugly, who had her made her feel so _complete_… as if they were opposite moulds of the same template… He had just… He was…

'_Buffy, what's wrong?'_

'_Nothing, I… saw a shadow._'

A shadow of a man. A shadow that had ruthlessly devoured the tiny pinprick of light she'd felt herself drawn to in a world that was already too full of darkness.

Buffy couldn't believe it. She just couldn't _believe_ that…

It felt like her heart was cracking in half. A deep, vicious fissure drawn down its center, opening a chasm deeper than the Marianas trench.

Eventually, she closed her eyes again. Squeezed them shut in an attempt to block out the numbness that had engulfed her. Numbness that somehow managed to make every muscle in her body ache.

Buffy fell asleep like that. Immobilized on her back, still dressed. Blinds drawn, every lamp in her bedroom turned on. Even when her mother came to wake her, prompted her to get into her pajamas and into bed, she kept the lights going. Left them burning until daylight washed her bedroom walls the next morning.

|#|+-+-+|#|

For the few short seconds after Willow inquired about Spike's condition with a tiny little grin that meant she wasn't just asking about his physical health, Buffy stared down at the pavement in hopes that today would be the day that the Hellmouth decided to open up and swallow them all.

When it became apparent that wasn't going to happen, she had no choice but to answer with the truth. "He's… not so good. He's sort of… a vampire."

"_What_?"

"I'd like to second that with a _huh_?"

"Oh dear."

"Spike is a _vampire_?"

"I can't believe this is happening," Buffy murmured, having made no progress when it came to understanding what she'd seen last night.

"Buffy, what happened? Are you all right?" Giles inquired.

"Except for the shock and horror that comes with realizing the guy you've been crushing on is undead? Yeah, I'm peachy." She let out a long sigh. "Last night, we…" Catching sight of the looks on the faces of both her male companions, she decided to leave out the part about their kissing. "We went patrolling together. One minute we were fighting, and the next minute…"

"Bumpies?"

"Yeah." Buffy shook her head, flashing back to the weeks she'd spent getting to know Spike. The disconnect between what he _was_, and how he'd acted around her all this time. "Can a vampire ever be a good person?" she asked, looking at Giles as though she were drowning, and he was the deckhand on a ship nearby holding a life preserver. "Couldn't it happen?"

He refused to relinquish command of the styrofoam ring, although he at least had the decency to look unhappy about it. "A vampire isn't a person at all. It may have the movements, the- the memories, even personality of the person that it took over, but it's still a demon at the core. There is no halfway."

"So that'd be a no, huh?" Willow clarified for him, understanding that although Giles' encyclopaedia of a brain was often useful, there were times when it spewed out just a little _too_ much explanation on a topic.

Buffy heard what Giles was saying, had long ago accepted it as the truth, but it felt like right now, somehow, he had to be _wrong_ about this. Spike had seemed just as ashamed by his transition as she was afraid of it. Had tried to reason with her instead of attacking. "Well then what was he doing? Why was he good to me? Was it all some part of the Master's plan? It doesn't make any sense!"

She parked herself on one of the benches outside of the school, Willow following behind. She wasn't ready to go inside yet, where she'd spend the next seven hours trapped with her own thoughts, none of which would be of the kittens and rainbow variety. At least out here there was movement and energy… an environment that offered her brain something else to focus on if it slowed down too much.

"All right, uh, you have a problem, and it's not a small one," Xander was saying as he sat down beside the two girls. "Let's take a breath and look at this calmly, and objectively." Yeah, that's what his tone said, but the fact that this was _Xander_ meant that what he had to say probably wouldn't fit into either of those categories. Didn't matter though, because she was only half-listening. "Spike's a vampire. You're a Slayer. I think it's obvious what you have to do."

She wondered if he realized that the grin he gave her was yet another piece of shrapnel digging into her heart, which already felt as though it was wrapped in barbed wire. Did he hear what he was suggesting? That she should just drive a stake into the chest of a guy she actually had _feelings_ for?

"Uh, it is a Slayer's duty…"

"I-I know you have feelings for this guy," Xander said.

Well, at least he could acknowledge _that_ much.

"But it's not like you're in love with him, right?"

In love with him? No. But it certainly hadn't seemed like an outrageous possibility last night…

"You're in love with a _vampire_?" He shouted a moment later, having taken her silence as confirmation. "What, are you out of your _mind_?"

"What?" shouted a familiar voice behind them.

_Oh, great_, Buffy thought, catching sight of the brunette who'd spoken. _Let's ask Cordelia to join the conversation. I'm sure she'll have some sage advice for me. _

"Not a vampire," Xander clarified, turning to Buffy again. "How could you love an umpire? Everyone hates 'em!"

Luckily though, his clumsy attempt to salvage any illusions of the sanity of their discussion weren't actually needed. Cordelia barely glanced at them a second time before descending on some other girl, snatching at her matching dress like a vulture ripping flesh from a hunk of road kill.

"You think _we_ have problems…" Buffy muttered, glad they had someone like that around to keep everything in perspective.

"Listen Buffy, we really are sorry about Spike's, um… _condition_, but. You know this means-"

"Xander?" Willow's voice broke in, soft as a handful of goose down but cutting through Xander's tirade like a diamond-coated blade. "Leave it alone for now, okay?"

|#|+-+-+|#|

Bloody. _Fucking_ Hell.

Spike could not believe what an _enormous_ twat he was. Letting his game face creep up on him like that.

He wasn't some fledge. Some clueless moron incapable of controlling the ability of his demon to make ripples on the pond of his face. Even worse was the fact that he hadn't even _noticed_. Didn't even feel the bones and cartilage shifting, didn't feel his fangs descend.

He'd just been so wrapped up in the fight. He was so used to allowing his demon to rise to the surface unhindered. It had been so long since he'd fought alongside anyone, in particular anyone _human_, that it just wasn't something he paid attention to anymore…

_Christ. _No way he'd be able to salvage the situation now. Not when she'd probably be spending all day with her Watcher, reading what was sure to be his rather detailed rap sheet. Finding out about his past… _indiscretions_. Their link to each other was too tenuous, the bridge of trust between them still missing its keystone. There was no way that anything they'd shared so far would be strong enough to block out the horror of his past. To convince her that he was _different_.

Whipping around, he hurled his mug across the kitchen of his insignificant apartment, watching as its contents splattered all over the fridge. The mug itself remained intact.

_One less mess to clean up, at least_.

Still, he needed to destroy _something_.

His fist, now surrounded by a ring of mutilated particle board, had apparently decided that the cupboard would do. He extracted his hand and stared at the bloody knuckles, little brown flecks of the cupboard's flesh falling to the floor as he flexed his digits.

_Fuck_. It wasn't supposed to go like this.

He didn't even care about the bloody 'mission'. Didn't care about slaying, or stopping the Big Bad, or making sure that the Master stayed buried underground where he belonged. Sure, he liked the world well enough, and he'd pitch in if it meant keeping it more or less the way it was. Taking out the odd vamp here or there kept his demon from getting too restless, provided him with that daily quota of violence he seemed unable to shuck his need for.

What Spike really cared about though… what _actually_ mattered to him… was _her_. He'd been there when she was called. Watched as the Suit had walked up to her on the front steps of her high school, and given her the cryptic message that would transform her into a warrior.

At first he hadn't thought much of her, really. Just some California brat whose destiny, up until that point, had been marrying rich and popping out a few kiddies before her insides shrivelled up. A destiny she likely would've been pretty content with.

Except… there _had_ been something there. Beneath the veneer. The seed of someone stronger, someone more significant than that sugary cupcake of a girl. There had to be, because Spike was sure that none of her other friends would've followed the Watcher- hell, none of them would've even noticed he was _there_. Would've just gone on daydreaming about cheerleading routines and school dances without ever acknowledging his presence.

Much less followed him to a graveyard.

Observing her first few nights of training, he'd started to think that yeah, maybe this was a girl worth risking his hide over. Then, after following her to Sunnydale, seeing what she was really capable of, the _potential_ she had… he was absolutely certain.

Buffy Summers was worth fighting for. Worth protecting. Spike had decided to step up because… well, who else was gonna do it?

That was as far as it was supposed to go. Pop in every now and then, feed her information when he had it. Maybe throw a few punches, let a few stakes fly.

Hadn't taken long though before she'd dashed any hopes he had of keeping himself detached. From a distance, it had been easy to do. From a distance, he'd never actually had to _talk_ to her. To get the thrill of trading barbs and seeing how vigorously she reacted to him pushing the buttons she kept so near to the surface. From a distance she was just a vision. He'd had no idea what she smelled like, that delectable aroma that cloaked her… sweet and tangy and _full_. He couldn't hear the little sounds she made- the frustrated groans, the excited intakes of her breath…

So, yeah. After that first week or two, he'd started to feel like he was drowning.

Then, last week, after finding out that she'd _burned down her school gym,_ for fuck's sake- an event he'd somehow missed –he'd been done for.

Two nights ago when she'd invited him up to her bedroom, he knew he'd lost whatever semblance of control had over the situation. Knew it was to be his undoing. But… how was a vamp supposed to look upon such an opportunity and just _reject_ it?

Problem was, he had no idea what it would be like to actually kiss her, actually _taste_ her. To devour her mouth while she devoured his. To be close enough that he could hear the little whimpers that escaped her delectable lips. Feel her lithe but powerful digits clutching the leather coat that was a second skin to him.

Spike hadn't been that turned on in nearly a half century. And even _then_… some nameless face in 1950s Thailand couldn't _begin_ to compare to the warm, glowing drop of sunlight that was the Slayer.

And now, he'd gone and buggered it all up with what could only be described as a shamefully rookie mistake.

Still… if she staked him tomorrow, he'd go happily, having gotten even that small taste of her lips.

Spike hoped it wouldn't come to that though. He'd have to talk to her. Try to get her to see through the wall of confusion the Watcher would surely build for her. Wouldn't be easy, he knew. Slayer was nothing if she wasn't stubborn.

But he had to try. She'd fed him a crumb last night, and now, despite everything- what he was, what she was, what had happened between them… he wanted the whole damn pie.

|#|+-+-+|#|

"I may have something at last."

Xander jumped, turning on his male counterpart. "Can you please warn us before you do that?"

Giles, in full Watcher Mode, didn't even acknowledge his request. "There's nothing about Spike in the texts, but… well, I'm embarrassed to say that the name is actually more familiar to me than I originally thought. I didn't realize _how_ familiar until I thought to consult the diaries of the Watchers before me."

"That musta been so embarrassing when you thought he had read your diary," Willow said, having set her intellectual persona aside for the time being. "But then it turned out he hadn't, but then he felt the same way after all…"

Buffy wanted to remind her of the part where he'd _said_ that he'd read it, but… both girls realized that they were being stared at. Willow looked up.

"I'm listening."

"Buffy, you said that this Spike… he initially introduced himself as William?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then I think I may have our man."

"You mean our dee-man," Xander corrected him. Looked around at the unamused faces of his friends. "Dee-man. As in, demon?" He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It sounded clever in my head."

Normally, something like this was good news. Giles hovering over his books, ready to give her the skinny on whatever beastie she had to take down that week. Right now it felt like he was just winding up to punch her in the jaw.

"According to the diaries, Spike was turned in the late eighteenth century. Known initially as 'William the Bloody', he soon earned his nickname for torturing his victims with railroad spikes."

"Sounds like quite the charmer," Xander commented. He'd gotten even more sarcastic and snarky since Giles' inquiries about the events of last night had forced her to admit to The Kissing that had happened. Insisting that any and all details were crucial to understanding his motivations.

Buffy just looked away.

"He spent his first twenty-five years with…" he squinted at his page. "A cadre of vampires… cutting a swathe through Europe and Asia, even popping up in the Americas, and… oh, a brief stint in Australia."

"So, pretty much everywhere."

"Oh, well… yes. In any case, around 1905 he ceased being quite so… prominent. There's barely a mention of him anywhere until 1977." Giles seemed uncomfortable when releasing that particular piece of information, and rushed to get out his next words. "After that he appeared to go dormant again."

"Until now."

"Yes."

Buffy thought about this for a few moments. There were several voices yelling at her inside her head, and the one that seemed to be loudest at this particular instant was the one that had been starting to care for Spike. The voice that wanted to believe she _hadn't_ allowed herself to feel affection for a bloodthirsty demon. "So, what was he doing, when no one heard from him? I mean… it's possible, isn't it, that he was… I don't know. Doing non-evil stuff?"

"Buffy…"

"We don't know anything about him apart from what it says in the diaries, right? Maybe he _is_ good! Maybe-"

"_Buffy_," Giles interrupted, speaking in that tone he used when she really _needed_ to listen to what he had to say. "Vampires who create chaos wherever they go… they are not unique by any standard. I could give you a list of thirty or so vampires responsible for similar deeds in the last two decades alone. Spike is not noted in these diaries because he…"

"Liked to kill a lot of people?" Xander supplied.

Giles glanced at him, and nodded.

"So, what's the scoop then, Giles?" she asked, hoping no one else could hear the tremor in her voice. "The suspense isn't really helping…"

"I apologize. I simply don't know how to…" he took a breath, pulling a chair over and sitting down in front of her. Removing his glasses, he leaned forward on his elbows, wearing a look of concern mixed with sorrow. "In 1900, Spike was in China when he came up against a Slayer. Then, in 1977, he faced his second. Both times he…" Giles looked down, as if the words he needed were painted on the floor at his feet. "Buffy, Spike is mentioned in the Watchers' diaries because… he has made a career of killing…"

She didn't hear what he said last. She was already halfway to the library doors, her friends calling after her.

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Buffy?" Willow's voice floated towards her from the other end of the classroom. "Buff?"

She waited before responding. Listened for Xander's footsteps or Giles' shuffling. When it was apparent that the redhead was alone, she spoke up. "I'm here."

Buffy was sitting at the front of the classroom, back pressed against the wall where the chalkboard was. Willow had entered from the back, unable to see her around the teacher's desk. Now her sneakers squeaked as they flopped against the tiled floor, heading towards her. "Hey."

Wiping away the remnants of the tears she'd been shedding for the last few minutes, she looked up at her friend. "Hey." She really wasn't ready for the speech that was sure to be coming. Didn't want to hear Willow's words of concern, or encouragement, or anything that she had to offer. _Nothing_ could make this better right now. Nothing could fix the fact that she'd just found out that the guy she'd been thinking of as her next potential honey had a _thing_ for Slayers, in the worst possible sense.

Willow didn't say anything though. Just gave her that soft, half-frowning smile, sat down beside her, and wrapped her in a one-armed hug. Rested her head against her shoulder and just sat and breathed with her.

"Sorry for bailing like that."

"Don't be."

"Giles and Xander?"

"Still in the library. I finally managed to convince them that you probably weren't going to be in much of a talking mood anymore."

"Thanks."

Willow smiled, and didn't say anything for what could've been a minute, or could've been a half hour. "So, I've gotta ask…"

Buffy looked at her, silently begging her not to say whatever was about to come out of her mouth. Willow brightened the expression on her face though, and sat up a bit straighter, turning to face her.

"When… when Spike kissed you… how was it?"

Whoa. Wow. Okay, she definitely _hadn't_ been expecting her to ask _that_. Buffy studied her for a few long seconds, trying to figure out what she was getting at. Trying to decipher the hidden meaning, but… there apparently was none. Willow just wanted to do what they'd done almost every day since she arrived in Sunnydale. Gossip. Live vicariously through her. And the part of her that had enjoyed what happened with Spike last night, the part that was purely female, and had been so _excited_ right up until that moment in the graveyard… well, she decided she wanted her chance to speak. "It was… _God_, it was amazing. It… it was like we'd done it a hundred times before, but… also like it _was_ our first time. Which, I know doesn't make a lot of sense."

"No, it does," Willow said with an eager grin.

"I didn't know it was possible for guys to kiss like that. Although I guess technically, he's not…" She hadn't meant to lead herself back down the _vampire_ road already, but here she was. "God! I just don't get it, Will! I mean, I know what he is, and… and what he's done, but…" she dug her knuckles into her eyes, trying to physically force back the tears that threatened to spill over her eyelids again. "He's never done anything to hurt me. Never even given me the slightest reason to believe he had that in mind. He spent the whole night beside me and didn't even… he could've come after me- could've gone after my _Mom_. But he _didn't_."

"Do you think… maybe Giles is wrong about this?"

"Will…"

"Okay," she harrumphed, deflating with a sigh. "Maybe definitely _not_, but Buffy…"

Shaking her head, she leaned it against the solid wall behind her, looking up at the ceiling. "How am I supposed to do this? I mean, I know what I _have to_ do, but how am I supposed to… to _stake_ someone that I…"

Buffy didn't love him. She _didn't_. Love was a big, scary concept that she hadn't even begun to approach yet, especially not with Spike. She _had_ already reserved a place for him in her heart though. Cleared out an unused corner, swept away some of the cobwebs, gave it a quick dusting. Windexed the windows… to make it look nice, at least. And even though she'd been weary of granting him access, he'd slipped right in. Plopped down a lawn chair, a coffee table, and a television. Put his feet up, and made himself nice and comfortable.

Then he'd gone and trashed the place. She'd kicked him out, but… all his stuff was still there. Tipped over and broken, but _there_.

And there wasn't a single part of her that wanted to get rid of it.

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Here's what I don't get."

At the sound of Xander's voice, Giles looked up from the diary he was skimming through, still attempting to find information about Spike.

"Buffy's the Slayer, right?"

"I believe we've established that, yes."

Either ignoring, or more likely in his case, not even sensing the older man's sarcasm, Xander continued. "All right, well… isn't she supposed to have some sixth Spidey sense thing going on when it comes to vamps? Like, where she can tell one's around even if they aren't all obvious and bumpy-faced?"

"Indeed. That is one of the many tools in a Slayer's arsenal."

"Okay, then what's the deal?" the younger boy asked, waving his arms about. "This guy's been hanging around for weeks now. So how come she didn't pick up on his extreme being-dead-ness until he actually went all grr-face on her?"

This gave Giles a moment of pause. With everything else that had been revealed since Buffy and the others had arrived at school, he hadn't given that much thought. "I'm not sure," he said with a frown. "My guess would be that this acquired ability she has… It's not unlike a person suddenly being given the gift of vision after spending their whole life without it. No doubt it would take time for them to learn how to process and understand the new form of information." He half-shrugged, although for Giles this amounted to a slight tilt of his head. "And I would guess that in Buffy's case, at any given moment there is plenty else to distract her from making an accurate assessment of… one's character."

"So, what? You're saying her Slayer senses work on any vampire she doesn't happen to think is all dreamy and mysterious?"

Giles rolled his eyes. "I mean she has many other priorities in her life. Her education, her mother, her friends… all else that comes with being a teenager in America. I simply mean that Buffy is not as… focused… on her duties as a Slayer as those that have come before her. So, perhaps it is taking her longer to adjust… to hone her senses."

"Oh."

The librarian nodded, turning back to his book.

"But wait-"

"Xander, please. I've really told you everything I can. In the meantime, it is of utmost importance for us to arm ourselves with as much information about Spike as we can."

"Why? So we can stake him?"

"I assume that will be the eventual course of action, yes."

A gleeful smile erupted on the teenager's face, and he reached for the book nearest to him. "Well why didn't you say so?" He giggled, thumbing through a couple of pages. "I _love_ research."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Master?"

"Yes, my child?"

"I've been thinking about the Three, and what they said about the Slayer."

"Have you?"

"Yes," said Collin, stepping forward to seat himself next to his Master's throne. "They said that they chased her to her home."

"Indeed. Their explanation as to why they were unable to capture her. I see it as nothing more than an excuse for utter failure."

Nodding at his criticism, the Anointed was silent for another moment before continuing. "Master, when I was alive, I had a mother who I loved very much."

Although he clearly had no concern for such human emotions- and neither did Collin –the Master seemed intrigued by this statement. "Did you?"

"Yes. And I think that if anything had happened to her, I would have been very upset."

"Mm. But you've since outgrown such foolish notions, haven't you?"

"I have. But Master… the Slayer. She _also_ has a mother."

Sharp eyes turned on him then, glowing with red hot understanding. A smile crept over the Master's lips, and he reached out to brush his talons through Collin's hair. "You do learn quickly, don't you?"


	9. Awful Poet

**Author's**** Notes**: Watch out! **this is the THIRD PART** of this 'episode'/'chapter'. Make sure you read parts one and two first :)

A/Ns from previous two chapters apply here.

* * *

><p>Slayer would probably throw a fit when she found him on her front porch, but… this seemed like the best place to go looking for her. Joyce's car was in the driveway, which meant she'd be unlikely to start swinging stakes the second she opened her front door. Probably a bit cowardly to be using the older woman as a metaphorical shield, but considering the position he was in, he didn't have much choice.<p>

By the third time he'd lifted his knuckles to knock and dropped them back down again, Spike realized that something was a little… off… here. There was an unfamiliar scent at the front door. Fresh. Female, he could tell, but… there was something rotten in it.

He figured it out in the same instant that a scream erupted from inside. Paralyzed for a second, he remembered that he already had the invite he needed. Spike burst through the door and immediately heard the echo of growls in the kitchen. In there he found a girl- a vampire –with her fangs sunken into Joyce's throat, the woman slumped against her.

Roaring, he charged at her, grabbing the first wooden implement he could find and driving it into the bitch's back. Joyce crumpled to the floor, and he couldn't help following her. Couldn't stop his demon as it drew him toward the scent of her blood. Fresh. Hot. _Alive_.

God, it had been so long. _So long_ since he…

This time, Spike _did_ feel the creature within him erupt to the surface. Felt the scent of the crimson elixir sharpen to an even finer point as his vampiric nostrils soaked it up.

He knew Joyce wasn't dead. Wasn't even close to it. Still had plenty of fluid left in her, plenty to spare.

_You could_, the vile thing within him whispered, urging him forward. _Just a little nibble…_

|#|+-+-+|#|

Every stride she'd taken home felt as if it had been weighed down by a stack of lead bricks. This might've been the first time since moving to Sunnydale that she truly felt _glad_ to be home. That she'd sincerely thought of this house as _home_.

She wanted nothing more than to go inside, beg her Mom to make her a cup or twelve of hot chocolate, and curl up in front of the television with whatever mindless comedy she managed to pull off the shelf first.

Climbing up onto the front porch though, Buffy saw that the door was ajar. Weird. She looked over to the driveway. Maybe her Mom was bringing some groceries in…?

She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on the railing, heading for the kitchen.

For the second time in as many days, Buffy felt everything in her body seize up when she saw him. _Spike_.

His back was to her, and he was crouched down on the floor. Holding something in his arms.

No. Not some_thing_.

Some_one_.

"Mom?"

Her voice seemed to startle him, and he snapped around to face her, snarling.

Buffy didn't see the way his face relaxed once he recognized her. Didn't hear him murmur her name. Instead, something deep and primal and _vicious_ revved up inside of her, and she charged forward. Grabbed two fistfuls of his leather jacket, and hauled him toward the back door.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Spike took out a portion of the railing as he sailed through the air. Landed hard in the grass, his hip connecting with the edge of one of the two-by-fours he'd brought with him. When he looked up, she was standing at the edge of the stairs, arms crossed, glaring down at him.

"You're not welcome here," Buffy said in a tone that had not a drop of negotiation diluting it. "You come near us again, and I'll kill you."

He just stared back, his mind still attempting to recall everything that had just happened. It was nothing but a blur, a haze of overwhelming scents swirling around a mass of confusion and rage and panic. He would've protested, would've said something in his own defense, but the door was already slamming behind her.

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Mom? Mom!" Buffy knelt beside her, felt for a pulse with one hand and held the phone in the other. Waited for what felt like a century before the echo of her mother's heartbeat thrummed against her fingertips.

"Nine-one-one emergency," said a voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, I need an ambulance!" she barked into the receiver. "Sixteen-thirty Revello Drive! My mother cut herself, she lost a lot of blood! Please, please hurry!" She was about to drop the phone when the operator's voice trickled through it again.

"Uh, Miss? You said sixteen-thirty Revello?"

"Yes! One-six-three-zero Revello Drive. In Sunnydale!"

"I… I know where…" the operator stopped, took a quick breath. "Miss, an ambulance has already been dispatched to that address."

|#|+-+-+|#|

Two hours she'd been searching now, and she hadn't been able to find him. Not at the Bronze, not in any of the housing complexes nearby, not in any of the cemeteries he'd tracked her down in before.

Part of her hoped he'd already skipped town. Run somewhere far, far away where she'd never have to track him down. Never have to stake him.

On the other hand, finding him would mean that she hadn't been running all over Sunnydale wielding a crossbow for no reason. Glad as she was to be holding a weapon a little more high tech than a stake, she didn't enjoy trying to convince the people passing her on the street that no, they _didn't_ need to call the police. Or buy her a first class ticket to the puzzle factory.

By about the third abandoned warehouse she'd hit, pieces from that night started clicking together in her mind, and the picture they formed didn't look quite the way she'd expected it to. She hadn't thought much about what she'd encountered when she walked into her kitchen earlier that night. She'd been too worried about her mother, too enraged by the sight of Spike crouched over her…

But now, having made her way from one end of town to the other and back again, she'd had nothing _but_ time to think about it.

She thought about how from the way he was positioned, Spike's fangs couldn't have been fastened to her mother's neck when she walked in.

She remembered the 9-1-1 dispatcher telling her that there was already an ambulance on its way to her house. At the time, mind too clouded by concern for her mother's life, Buffy thought the lady was just trying to tell her not to panic. _Don't worry, I've already got one on the way, I was just confirming the address_… but had she actually meant that someone had called for help before she'd even picked up the phone? That _Spike_ had…

Stopping dead in the street, a final memory from earlier that evening overtook her. When she was kneeling next to her mother, trying to revive her, there was something gritty on the floor around them. It had crunched under her boots. After she stood up, she remembered wiping her hands on her pants. Leaving behind little finger-shaped tattoos of dirt.

No. Not dirt.

Vamp dust.

She could still make out the faded markings on her thighs, similar in texture and colour to the jagged circles on her knees.

Buffy didn't know what it meant. It certainly wasn't enough to exonerate Spike, but… it was another indication that things perhaps hadn't been what they'd seemed on her arrival. Veering left when she'd originally intended to go right, she headed back home. She'd have to have another look in her kitchen; make _sure_ that she was right about this, and that the granules stuck to her clothes weren't just flecks of dirt that Spike or someone else had tracked inside.

She was still a good twenty houses away from her own address, but even from this distance she could see him in her front yard. He was kind of hard to miss with that hair. Pacing back and forth across the lawn, cigarette being lifted to his lips every ten or fifteen seconds. Guy was lucky he didn't have to breathe, or worry about little nuisances like lung cancer.

Despite her suspicions, Buffy spent those last few blocks building a fortress around her emotions. Blocking out any small measure of affection she felt for him. Instead, she pushed to the forefront of her psyche all the things she knew about him. Spike was a vampire. One who'd gone on a killing spree that lasted more than two decades and spanned whole continents.

_Continents_. Plural.

He had extinguished the lives of two Slayers before her.

Plus, there was every possibility that all of this- right down to the reasons she had to believe he might be innocent –were a part of some big game he was playing. Maybe Spike was as manipulative as he was savage. Maybe he liked to screw with his victims before he took them out.

Lifting her crossbow, she watched him through its sight as she made her final approach. Ready to shoot if he decided to lunge at her.

Spike didn't look up until she was standing at the outer lip of her front walkway. He jerked to a halt, cigarette stuck between his lips, staring at her with the eyes of a deer caught at the edge of a watering hole by a hunter. Several beats of silence yawned between them before he snatched the burning stick from his lips and tossed it away. "Slayer."

She noticed that the front yard was littered with butts. _How long had he been here_? Looking back up at him, she fixed her index finger to the trigger. "I told you that if you came back, I'd kill you."

"Yeah, you did."

"So what are you doing here? Did you want to find out if I really meant it?"

The muscles in his jaw ticked, and he flexed his fingers into tight fists. "Came to speak my piece."

"So talk."

"You really want to do this out here?" he asked, looking around. "Want to have to explain to Mother Dearest why the neighbours saw you holding a crossbow on your history tutor in the middle of the night?"

Well… when he put it that way…

And she needed to go inside anyway to play Sherlock Holmes with the kitchen floor.

"All right. Get inside. _Slowly_."

Guiding him through the house, she instructed him to stand with his back against the kitchen door. "Don't move. Don't speak. I don't even want to see you blink your eyes."

"That might-"

"_What_ did I just say?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut, teeth clicking. Instead he just glowered at her. Crossbow still in hand, she moved forward from the doorway and knelt down in the spot where her mother had been lying a couple of hours ago. Swallowed the outrage that bubbled up in her chest, calming it with the knowledge that she was in a hospital bed now, awake and talking and surrounded by doctors who had her hooked up to all sorts of fluid lines and things that beeped.

Inspecting the space, she noticed a greyish brown plume spread across the floor. Like someone had upended a plastic baggie of cocoa mix. It was faint though, and scattered after having been trampled through by her, Spike, and the EMTs. She might've even questioned if she was actually seeing what she _thought_ she was seeing, if not for the fact that when he'd walked to the other side of the kitchen just now, Spike had left the stamp of his boot in the vampire remains.

Looking up at him again, she slowly straightened to her full height. "Tell me what happened tonight."

"So I can talk now then?"

"_Spike_."

He let out a harsh sigh. "Right. I came by looking for you. Wanted… wanted to talk about what happened. Last night." He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, indicating her bedroom. "Was standing on the front step when I heard a scream. I came in, saw some vamp latched on to your Mum, and I staked her," he said, using his hands to act out the series of events. Well, as best he could with them up in the air like a criminal seized by the cops. "Guessing that's what you were looking at just now."

Although he'd implied it up to this point, she needed to hear him _say _it. "So you didn't bite her?"

"Of _course not_."

"Oh, well gee, I'm _sorry_ for jumping to the wrong conclusion when I walk in and see you _fanged out_ over my mother's unconscious body," she shot back, annoyed by his tone. Like he couldn't believe she would ask such a question. Spike seemed to realize his mistake, and stayed silent. "Why didn't you say anything when I came in?"

"Didn't seem like you were feeling very chatty at the time."

Buffy couldn't really argue with that. Even if he'd pleaded innocence, she probably still would have thrown him through the railing on the deck. "Okay. Let's say that I believe what you're saying. That you didn't attack her." She could see that it bothered him that he hadn't fully convinced her of his innocence, but… well, he was just going to have to un-live with that. "Then… then what is all this? Why have you been coming around here? Feeding me information, helping me… saving my _life_? Has this all just been some sick game to you?"

"There's no game, Slayer. I've been helping you because I want to _help_."

"That's _bull_ and you know it! You're a _vampire_!" she almost yelled, as if that statement alone was enough to prove that he was lying. She edged closer to him, crossbow still ready to deploy an arrow into his heart. "Giles told me everything. About who… about _what_ you are. The things you've done. You _really_ expect me to believe that someone like you just decided to switch teams all of a sudden?"

He sighed, gaze falling to the floor momentarily. "Look. I know a thing or two about Watchers. How they operate, the kind of information they've got handy. Know the sort of things they probably have to say about yours truly." His hands were twitching. It was probably killing him to have to stand so still. To not be able to calm his nerves with a hit of nicotine. Again, Buffy was finding it tough to care. "But they don't know _everything_."

"Fine. Then _you_ tell me what I need to know. Tell me why I shouldn't do the world a favour and pull this trigger right now."

What startled Buffy the most at this point was the fact that… despite the accusations she was levelling at him, despite the fact that the beast within him must be going mad from being held hostage like this, his gaze was constantly glimmering with a light of understanding. As if he could appreciate why she was treating him like this… as if he knew that it was necessary.

"Guess I should start at the beginning," he mused aloud. Looking down, he scuffed a boot against the tiled floor. "I was turned at the tail end of the last century by a bird who's about as crazy as they come. Right from the start I had myself a gang that looked at humans like they were little Happy Meals with legs. Some of them you ate, some of them you played with… sometimes you did a bit of both. I spent a quarter century running with them, and I enjoyed every bloody _second_ of it." It was frightening how sincere he sounded when he said that. Buffy tightened her grip on her weapon.

"Something happened though."

"That it did," he confirmed with a twist of a smile. "Made the mistake of feeding on this one girl. Beautiful. Dumb as a box of rocks, but had a good sense of humour about things. She was a favourite among her clan."

"Her clan?"

"Romani. Gypsies," he clarified. "Funny thing is, I wasn't even the one who had my eye on her, but…" he laughed. "Well, I always wonder if he did it on purpose. If he knew what was gonna happen. Stupid sod was jealous, didn't take well to me getting so famous after…"

"Spike," she prompted him, sensing that he was getting a little bit off track.

"Right. Well you see, after learning what I'd done, the elders conjured the perfect punishment for me. They restored my soul."

_Oh, big whoop_, Buffy thought. His soul? That's it? "What, they were all out of boils and blinding torment?"

He snorted. "I _wish_ they'd gone that route. _That_ I would've enjoyed by comparison." Off her questioning look, he continued. "Look, becoming a vampire… it means the demon takes over your body, but your soul gets Hoovered out in the process. Can't say where it goes, just that it's gone. There's no conscience, no remorse. Makes it easy to live the way we do. Can you imagine what it's like, Slayer… to have done the things that I've done, every night for two and a half decades, and to actually _give a damn_?"

No. She really couldn't. Buffy doubted that what he'd just described was something that _any_ human could comprehend, but… thinking about the atrocities both Giles and Spike himself claimed he was responsible for… a quarter century filled with death and destruction and chaos… she could maybe see how giving Spike back his soul, his ability to feel _bad_ about what he'd done, was a worse punishment than any sort of physical retribution.

"There's something you haven't told me about yet," she said, realizing that she'd relaxed in the last few moments. She tightened her muscles back up though, because so far, she hadn't heard what she needed to hear from him. This was a nice story and all, but… there were still some pieces missing. Big pieces. "Giles… said that you… you have a _thing_ for Slayers."

Something shifted in his gaze then. A shadow of guilt mixed with trepidation. "He did, did he?"

"Yeah. He said you've killed two of them before. So I think you're going to tell me about that now."

Spike laughed, shaking his head. "Sorry love, but that particular topic is not on the table for discussion."

"Oh really? Well, I'm thinking that since I'm holding the crossbow here, _I'll_ be the one who decides what is and isn't on the menu."

"You don't want to hear what I have to say, Slayer. Trust me. Not yet, you don't."

"Actually I do, Spike. I need you to tell me about the girl that you _murdered_ in China." She spit the word out, although it probably didn't have much effect on him. After all, murder had been a frequent pastime for him long before he ever encountered his first Slayer. "I need you to tell me about the one in New York. I need you to tell me how it is that seventy years after you supposedly got your soul back, you killed _another_ Slayer."

The look he gave her at that was sharp. Begging her to stop. But she couldn't. Couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of her lips. Everything she'd been thinking for the last day and a half had just detonated a few sticks of dynamite at the base of the walls she'd built around her emotions, and now they were rushing out.

"Tell me that I'm not just another project to you, Spike. Another Slayer you've decided to screw with." She felt tears starting to tickle the edges of her eyelids, and she did her best to fight them back. She couldn't break down. Not here. Not now. "Tell me that what we've… that what you've made me _feel_ for you isn't…"

It was only now that she was able to admit it to herself. That she'd even really _realized_ it…

A lot of horrible things had been swirling around her since last night. The discovery that he was a vampire. That he'd probably killed enough people to populate a small country. Including two Slayers. Finding him in her house tonight, crouched over her mother. Standing in the waiting room of the ER, waiting for a doctor to come and tell her that Joyce would be all right.

But what bothered her… what was _hurting_ her the most was the idea that everything she'd been feeling for him these last few weeks… the affection, the playful annoyance, the gratitude… was all a lie. That it wasn't enough for him to mess with her life, her friends, her family… that he actually had to use her _heart_ as a prop in this gruesome little play of his.

"Slayer, _stop_." His leg twitched, and he shifted his hand halfway to her face before he dropped it again, apparently determined to abide by the restrictions she'd placed on him. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw. Cast a weary look around the room before finally settling his gaze on her again. "Listen. I've been around a long time, all right? My past…" He shook his head. "It's big, it's ugly, and it's complicated. That Slayer. The one in New York. It's a long story, pet, but… I promise you. No matter what's in those books your Watcher's got, they don't know the whole of it. I didn't… it's not how it seems, yeah?"

She supposed she could believe that much. After all, they apparently hadn't known that he was all soul-having, so… it was possible there was something missing from their account of what happened to that particular Slayer.

Still… he hadn't exactly said that he _hadn't_ killed her…

And just _how much_ room was there for misinterpreting something like the death of a Slayer at the hands of such a notorious vampire?

"But as for the other… Buffy… I came here, I came to Sunnydale _because_ of you. Not because I wanted to hurt you, or to toy with you."

She could tell that he wanted to touch her. Even though he hadn't tried to reach for her again, he was leaning towards her. Bobbing on the balls of his feet. She couldn't let him do it though. Couldn't lower her weapon, couldn't let him build that bridge between them. If she let him in now, she knew he'd never leave… and there was still too much uncertainty. Too much she didn't know.

God, even this soul he claimed to have… it was still just that. A _claim_.

"What you feel for me," he continued. "You're not alone in that, pet. Last night in your bedroom, when we kissed…" He lowered his head as he pushed a sharp breath out of his chest. "If you had any idea-"

"Buffy!"

She didn't know if she was relieved or enraged when Giles' voice severed whatever Spike had been about to say. "Yeah, I'm here!"

Willow called out next. "Spike didn't attack your Mom, Buffy! It was-"

It physically ached to tear her gaze away from his. "I know," she said, watching the three of them come around the corner, faces the colour cherry lollipops. "Did you guys _run_ here from the hospital? Giles, you have a car, don't you?"

"So you haven't dusted him already?" Willow asked, not waiting for the librarian to answer.

She frowned. "Uh, no, hence why he's-" she turned around to point out that he was standing less than two feet from her… but he was gone. The kitchen door was hanging open, and she heard something crash into the bushes outside. "No. I didn't."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Ah, the post-fumigation party."

Marvelling at her friend's appreciation for yet another thing that would've seemed absurd anywhere outside of Sunnydale, Buffy figured this was one of those times where it was just easier to ask for clarification. "Okay, so what's the difference between this and the pre-fumigation party?"

"Much hardier cockroaches," Xander answered, clearly a repeat participant in this tradition.

"So, no word from Spike?" It was a question Willow had been asking every three or four hours for the last two days.

"Nah," she said, trying not to let any of the tumultuous emotions she associated with him leak into that tiny word. She'd sounded nonchalant, right? Totally at ease with the whole situation? "I think it's gonna be a while though before I stop expecting him to just show up and be all 'got some-'"

"Information for you, Slayer. If you're interested."

Buffy froze at the sound of his voice behind her. Was she hallucinating? No. No, she couldn't be. Not with the way Willow was grinning at her, or the look on Xander's face that was equal parts surprised, homicidal, and intimidated. Spinning around fast enough to give herself whiplash, she plunged into a deep blue ocean, skin tingling from the discharge of electricity that surrounded him.

"Um, we're just gonna…" Willow mumbled. "Over there, we'll… look, Xander! Shiny things!"

"Huh? What? I don't-"

"_And_ cookies!"

She was barely aware of the sound of Willow dragging the brunette away, senses too full of everything the vampire was pouring into them. Even standing still, it was a lot to absorb. The glimmering sapphires that consumed her, the jagged scar on his eyebrow, the cool breeze wafting over her with his soft, shallow breaths- _what kind of vampire _breathed_, anyway_? –the rich scent of leather and tobacco that followed him as though it was a part of his very aura.

"H-hi," she finally managed to breathe out, dispatching a weak smile in accompaniment.

"Hello, pet."

Damn him. How did he sound so calm? And… after another thirty seconds dribbled by where they just stared at each other, she wondered… why wasn't he saying anything else? If he was so calm, why didn't _he_ decide on a starting point for this conversation? "So… you… sort of bailed, the other night." He'd better not give her any cut-eye for that opener. It was the best she could do, and it was _his_ fault that every other thinking process in her brain had shut down.

"I did." He nodded. "Didn't much fancy sticking around for an enlightening chat with your dear Watcher and the Wonder Twins."

"I get that."

"Wanted to see how your Mum was doing though."

"She's good. Still a little confused about how she cut herself on a barbeque fork that doesn't exist, but… other than that, peachy with a side of keen."

"Good." Another nod. "Good." His gaze was roaming over her face now, unable to fix on a certain point. He lifted his hand, but hesitated. Seemed to undergo some serious internal debate before finally coming to a decision and capturing a loose ribbon of her hair. Running his fingers down its length, he lifted them to repeat the motion once he'd reached the end. "Listen, Slayer. This thing between us…"

"Can't ever be anything. I know." His gaze sharpened, forehead crinkling into a frown. Apparently her conclusion was a surprise to him. "I mean… it… it _can't_. _I_… can't…"

Now his other hand was in her hair, joining its mate to tangle in the golden tendrils, fingertips massaging their foundation. She heard him take a deep breath, and his forehead touched hers. "I get you, Slayer. Didn't really think… but I get you."

There was only one thing she'd been able to decide for sure in the days since their conversation in her kitchen. And that was the fact that she still wanted him. Even knowing what he was, knowing the things he'd done… Buffy couldn't dismantle the part of her that felt connected to him. Couldn't find the switch she needed to flip in order to deactivate the craving for his touch, now that she'd had a taste of it.

She wanted him for the fact that she'd never have to explain away the bruises she wore when she got home at night. For the fact that he would be impressed, rather than horrified, by the contents of her weapons chest. She wanted the fact that he could be strong for her in the times when she'd need it most- when the Master finally found a new way to escape from his mystical prison, or when some other big nasty decided to come after her.

Yet here they stood, on opposite sides of some ancient, mystical divide that opened a chasm between them the size of the Grand Canyon, even when their toes were close enough to be touching.

He breathed against her again, shoulders rising and falling, bringing with them the hands she didn't realize she'd placed there. "But, Christ, Slayer… you _smell_ so…"

"Spike?"

"Yeah."

"Kiss me."

His lips touched hers before she'd even finished voicing her request, and she let out a startled little whimper. Fingers already splayed over his neck, she wrapped both arms around his shoulders to clutch him closer. Pressed her body flush against his, and sighed with relief. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she found herself pushing back. Wanting to taste the chilled walls of his moist cave, to memorize every dip and groove and angle. If this was the only chance she'd get to do so, she wanted to _possess_ him in the most thorough way possible considering that they were in a public area.

His hand skimmed down her back as her own tangled in his hair. He slid around to grip her flanks, and squeezed. She pulled at his vanilla locks as though she were trying to suck the flavour out of them through her fingertips.

"Slayer…" he panted, diving back in for another kiss, nibbling at her lower lip as he pulled away again. "We keep going like this, I won't be able to…"

Breathing hard, her chest pressed against his with each inhalation, but she couldn't force herself to move back for the sake of getting more air. "I know. I know." _One more_, she told herself, pressing her lips to his in a chaste encounter. She slid her hands down to cup his cheeks, and gave him one last long, lingering kiss. It was then that the scent of seared flesh made it to her nostrils, and she looked down. "I didn't… hurt you too much, did I?" she asked, somewhat ashamed.

Sneaking out from beneath the neckline of his t-shirt was a rectangle of sweltering skin. Touching her finger to the outermost edge of the ruby red, glistening blemish, she looked up to him with apology in her eyes. She already knew it was going to hurt when they walked away tonight… she hadn't intended to also leave him in _physical_ pain.

"Nah," he assured her, lifting a finger to the cross around her neck, but not quite making contact with it. "Besides, it's my own fault for giving you the bloody thing, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she tried to smile around her frown, around the despair that was scrabbling to the surface of her features with the realization that this was it. "Way to go."

Spike laughed, untangling his arms from where they were still embracing her, and taking a gentle step back. "Right." He sighed, running both hands through his hair to smooth down the mess of curls she'd created.

"I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah." Before she could turn around though, he spoke one last time. "Just… promise me one thing, Slayer? You plan to go on any dates in the future, send out a memo, yeah? Wouldn't want to have to… you know… break that pesky rule I have about _not_ dismembering people anymore."

For the sake of her own sanity, Buffy decided to skim over the fact that he'd said '_anymore_', and nodded. "Yeah. Will do," she promised him. Even though, after tonight… after everything she'd gone through in the last week, she really didn't it was going to be an issue. For a long_, long_ time.


	10. I, Robot You, Jane

**Auth****or's**** Notes:** Sorry for the relatively massive delay in updates. Real life has been kicking my butt lately, so they might not be as frequent as they have been...

Also, thank you for all of the love on the previous chapter(s). Now, I give you angst *ducks the throwing of rotten fruit*

There is a single line of dialogue from Season 4, _Something Blue_. Very insignificant, but... see previous chapters re: my wish for plagiarism to go die a horrible death. :)\

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Dammit. <em>Dammit<em>.

Buffy had _purposely_ avoided cutting through the cemeteries on her way to the Bronze tonight, with the hope that she wouldn't have to make with the slayage at any point. She was wearing her new suede skirt, and kind as it was to the look of her calves, it wasn't so conducive to hand-to-hand combat.

Probably should've sent out a memo to the vamp she'd just found mauling a woman.

"Hey! Fangface! Why don't you try picking on someone your own size?"

Okay, so the words themselves weren't all that quippy, but this guy was at least six-foot-five, and built like a linebacker. Points for irony, at least?

A little dazed as he surfaced from his bloodlust, he frowned at her. "Get lost."

"Please help me! Call the police!" the older woman sobbed. Barely able to stand up, she was slumped over in the vampire's arms, a jagged red stripe painted on her neck.

"Come on. Are you really gonna pass up a shot at this, for a belly full of that?" Buffy asked him, pointing first at herself and then to the woman.

He smirked. "Maybe I'll have both."

Tossing the old woman down, the demon lunged at her. With his arms outstretched like a gorilla, he left himself open for the uppercut she delivered to his jaw. Elbowing him in the gut, she then drove her heel down into one of his kneecaps. It was the highest point she could reach with the skirt she was wearing.

Sure, she'd be dusting him in a minute. Didn't mean she wanted to give him a look at what she was wearing underneath it.

Sinking to one knee, the vampire howled in pain. Buffy looked around for a wooden implement of some sort, eyes settling on a shovel someone had left leaning against a tree in their front yard. Moving towards it, she felt her prey's hand clamp around her upper arm. He spun her towards him, throwing a vicious backhand that sent her to the ground. Injured as he was, he still had enough mobility to pin her down. A triumphant grin spread between his cheeks as he hovered over her.

"You know, I could turn you if I wanted to. I bet you and I could-"

He was cut off when a pair of hands clapped down on his shoulders. Buffy frowned, thinking for a moment that it was the older woman. Then she saw the black nail polish.

"Fancy a bit of help?" Spike asked, leaning past the vampire to smile down at her.

Apparently sensing a fellow creature of the night, her attacker looked over his shoulder at him. "Yeah. But I get first crack at her."

"Wasn't talking to you, mate," the bleached blonde muttered, fingers clenching around the fabric of his jacket and hurling him backwards.

A gust of cool air hurtled down on her as the two-hundred-and-some-odd pounds of walking-dead-guy were suddenly stripped away. Scrambling to her feet, she saw that Spike now had their opponent under control. Seemed to be enjoying his task of beating the un-living crap out of him.

Darting over to the shovel she'd spied a moment ago, she drove her palm into the shaft, snapping it in two. She then ran at the battling pair of vampires. Spike had just driven his fist into his opponent's nose.

"Spike! Down!" she yelled.

Head snapping around, he caught sight of her, then bent over at the waist. Buffy rolled over him, her back against his. Landing on both feet, she sunk her makeshift stake into the vampire's chest. A familiar feeling of relieved triumph washed over her as he dissolved a second later.

"That's what you get for trying to ruin my night off."

"Didn't know you got those," Spike commented behind her.

Turning around, she laughed. "Yeah, well… apparently neither does anyone else," she muttered, indicating her stake and the vamp dust she was now brushing off her shoulders. She heaved a sigh, and only then remembered the woman she'd been attempting to help in the first place. "Hey…" Buffy looked around, finding no trace of her. "Did you see…"

"Middle-aged woman, running for her life?" he finished for her. "Yeah. She went that way."

"Oh. Okay, well… you're welcome!" she yelled out into the darkness.

Straightening up, Spike stuffed his thumbs into the waistline of his jeans, cocking an eyebrow at her. "So um, when do I get _my_ thanks?"

"Huh? Thanks? For what?"

"For rescuing you."

"_Rescuing_?" Buffy sputtered. "You… you didn't _rescue_ me. You… _assisted_ me."

He scoffed. "That what you call it then? Me pulling him off of you, getting him all ready for the staking."

"Well, yeah. Me Slayer, you vampire. Like you said, you got him ready, I did the staking. Ergo, _you_ assisted _me_."

"You do realize that's a load of bollocks, don't you?"

"If 'bollocks' is yet another of your wacky fun phrases that means 'incredible trueness', then yeah. I do realize that," she fired back, arms crossed as she grinned at him.

For a second, it looked as though steam was going to start leaking out of his ears. Instead, the tension within him was released with a long breath, as he dropped his head and shook it. He looked back up at her, blue eyes shimmering. "I've missed you, love," he said, voice suddenly dripping with sincerity.

A warm shudder ran through her at that. This was the first time she'd seen him since their encounter at the Bronze a couple of nights ago. "I've missed you too," she admitted before she could tell herself not to.

Probably a good thing, because she was already busy telling herself not to move into his arms. Not to kiss him. Not to get lost in his gaze. Not to sink any further into the feelings she had for him.

"You um… headed to the Bronze?" he asked, sounding shy, although he took a step forward to close the distance between them.

"Yeah."

"You look nice," he commented after letting his gaze fall down her form and then crawl back up.

"Thanks." She was sure she was blushing. With anyone else, she'd be happy for the darkness, and its ability to conceal the crimson blooming on her cheeks. Being a vampire though, Spike could probably see the outline of every capillary as it opened up beneath her skin.

"You meeting someone there?"

"Uh, yeah." At the somewhat stormy look he gave her for those words, she quickly corrected herself. "I mean no." That didn't seem to help, because now he thought she was lying to him. "I mean… I'm meeting Willow and Xander."

Buffy thought for a second about teasing him for his obvious jealousy, but decided against it. Despite the fact that their conversation had suddenly stalled, it hadn't entered the realm of 'awkward' yet, and she didn't want to be the one to steer it in that direction. Plus, she couldn't exactly blame him for being jealous. It had been less than a week since they'd kissed in her bedroom, and even though she'd shut down any chance of their having a relationship, she definitely still had feelings for him.

Big, scary, consuming feelings that she didn't really want to consider right now.

"Can I walk you there?"

Her heart clenched.

No. She should say no. This was a bad, bad idea.

"Yeah. Sure. I'd like that."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Buffy's here!" Willow announced, perking up in her seat.

Xander clapped his hands. "All right, let the fun begin."

She shot her best friend a wounded look at that. Realizing his mistake, he attempted to backpedal.

"I mean… 'cause Buffy's here now. So we're all together. So we can start having fun without feeling guilty that we're leaving her out of it. I wasn't saying that- whoa, hey! What's the Bleach Job doing here?"

It took her a second to catch up with his sudden detour. The look on Xander's face helped her understand what he might be referring to. Glancing back over to where she'd seen Buffy, Willow noticed Spike standing beside her.

"She didn't invite him, did she?"

"I don't think so," Willow said with a frown. She was sure that was something Buffy would've mentioned to her. "Maybe they met up on the way here."

"Well he can't stay!"

At this point, the redhead was only halfway tuned in to her companion's rant. Instead, she was busy watching the two blondes by the door. Buffy looked down to where their hands were clasped, and from the way she gently jerked away, it appeared she hadn't realized they were connected in the first place.

They exchanged a few words, before Buffy pointed her thumb in their direction. Spike nodded, grinned, and said what must've amounted to 'good-bye'.

Before they parted though, he reached out and captured her hand again. Buffy stopped and looked at him. He said something else, and then leaned in to brush his lips against her temple.

"What the heck was that?" Xander broke through Willow's focused observation. "I thought they were all with the _not_ having of a relationship."

"They're not."

"Then what's with the-"

"Xander, just don't, okay?

"But-"

Willow turned to him. "Xander, I get it," she said with authority, though she tried to look sympathetic at the same time. She knew this whole situation kinda sucked for him. "You're not a card-carrying member of the Spike Fan Club. Don't say anything about it when Buffy comes over though, okay?" she glanced back over to see Spike melting through the doorway. "I'm thinking she's gonna need us to cheer her up a bit."

"What? Why?'

Disappointed, but not surprised by her best friend's lack of insight, Willow offered him the only explanation he would understand. "Just… because."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"A robot."

"Uh-huh."

"A _demon_ robot."

"Still correct."

Spike continued to stare at her, no doubt waiting for the moment where Buffy got to the punch line or remembered that she had actually been on a psychoactive drug at the time, but instead all he got from her was a helpless shrug. "All right. I need you to explain it to me one more time, but go slowly, and use very, very tiny little words."

"Oh, trust me. That's my default setting. Big words, small words, words that aren't even actual words… no matter how I explain it, it doesn't get any less wigsome."

He shook his head. "And you say _Thelma's_ the one got mixed up in…" he wiggled his fingers in the air. "…all this?"

"Yup."

"Christ. And here, out of the three of you, I picked her for being the smartest one."

"Hey!"

He cocked an eyebrow at her protest, and she deflated, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, okay… fair enough. But still. _Hey_."

Spike smiled at her, his expression just a little too affectionate considering their status as not-and-never-will-be involved. She decided not to call him on it thought. "Don't worry, love. I ever need advice on tactical strategies, or an opinion on what kind of mace I should use to take out a Graestock demon, you'll be the first number I dial."

"Gee. Thanks." Her voice was so soaked with sarcasm, it was surprising that the words hadn't landed on the ground between them with a wet squelch.

"So," he prompted after serving her an obligatory smirk, pushing off from the tree he'd been leaning against and pacing slowly back and forth in front of the picnic table she was seated on. "Tell me, Slayer. Hypothetically speaking, had this Malcom fellow turned out to be an actual _fellow_, and the redhead asked you to go on a double date… anyone you might've wanted to take along? Anyone… new, I mean."

Buffy gaped at him. "Spike. Did you _seriously_ just ask me that question?"

"What?" he asked, as if he was actually confused by her tone.

"Wow," she said with a shake of her head. "You really do like to just walk up and punch subtlety right in the face, don'tcha?"

"Well, _yeah_. Why bother being subtle when you can just _say what you actually mean_?"

Infuriated as she was, Buffy decided that this was a good conversation for them to be having. It'd be a lot easier to forget about the fact that she wanted to pretty much leap into his arms right now if she reminded herself how _annoying_ he was with his blunt questions and his logic and sense-making and how even though it was a gross, _disgusting_ habit, he somehow managed to make smoking look pretty damn sexy and…

Okay. Getting off the Bad Thought train.

"Look, Spike… this whole bumping into each other thing isn't gonna get any less awkward if you don't stop asking me every time if I've got a new guy on my radar."

Did he _really_ think she'd be able to date someone so soon after…?

"Yeah well, we both know that it hasn't exactly been blind luck that we keep 'bumping into each other'." The smirk on his face said that he _knew_ she'd been purposely focusing her patrols on the few areas where she'd encountered him during her first couple of weeks in Sunnydale. The cemetery where she'd told him about Amy, the alleyway where they'd first met, the spot where they'd been attacked by the Three… and the vicinity of a bar that she'd come to understand had an alarming tendency for demon fights to break out outside of it. _Willy's Place_, or something…

What exactly did he mean by that, though? Did it actually _bother_ him that they'd still been seeing each other over the last two weeks? Okay, yeah, maybe it wasn't the _healthiest_ thing for her to have been doing… purposely hanging around the places she knew she was most likely to find him, but… she couldn't _help_ it. She still wanted to at least see him, to at least be able to hear his voice and paddle through that gaze of his and just _experience_ him, no matter what sort of limitations might have to be put on their interactions.

But… maybe he didn't feel the same way. Maybe he'd decided that if he couldn't be _with_ her, then he didn't even want to be around her. Maybe he'd decided that all they had between them was a physical attraction strengthened by the thrill of fighting against the spawn of Sunnydale's Hellmouth.

Maybe, now that he'd had some time to think about it, he'd realized that she just wasn't worth his time… and he was relieved to have figured it out before they'd actually _committed_ to anything, and now _she_ was just… buzzing around him like a fly around a juicy steak.

"I'm… sorry," she said with a frown, fighting to keep a lid on the tears that were suddenly leaning against their ducts. "I didn't think you'd mind… but, I'll… I'll go away. And just be… away."

"Slayer…"

Having already opened a good fifteen yards between them, she spun around to face him again, holding up her hands. "It's fine, I get it," she assured him, deciding not to read too much into the tumultuous expression he wore. Instead she smiled, hoping that the levee on her tears would hold for just a few more seconds. "Take care of yourself, Spike."


	11. The Puppet Show

**Author's**** Note:** Dialogue from Season 1, 'The Puppet Show'

* * *

><p>Tonight, she actually had a legitimate reason for being here. She'd rooted out a small nest of vamps a few streets down, and one of them had made a run for it. Taking her into what she had now come to define in her mind as <em>Spike's Territory<em>.

Still, that didn't stop the little spiders of shame from scrabbling down her spine when she saw him. Stake in hand, a layer of vamp dust collecting on her shoulders, she looked across to the other side of the small courtyard, and there he was. Leaning against a lamppost, cigarette dangling from his fingers. The startled look on his face belied his casual stance.

Running a hand through his hair, he straightened up and moved to step towards her. She mirrored his movement, but in the opposite direction. Spike frowned, his head cocking, and he took another step.

She turned and ran out as fast as she'd come in.

|#|+-+-+|#|

"I've been giving it some thought."

Buffy jumped at the sound of his voice. Hopped off the tombstone she'd been sitting on and spun around to face him, body reflexively working under the assumption that she was being attacked. Halfway through her turn though, she realized who it was.

_Spike_.

It was impossible to deflect the wrecking ball of emotions that slammed into her at the sight of him. Lust. Yearning. Anger. Loneliness. Anxiety.

…To say that things had been tumultuous between them over the last month would be like saying tornadoes are a little windy.

"Been trying to figure it out, you see," he continued, his voice anchoring her in place. "Reason why nowadays, you turn tail and run every time I'm around."

He took a step towards her, and for the second time in a week, she uprooted one foot and paced backward. It made him smile, and shake his head. "Yeah. Just like that."

"Spike…" she responded with a frown. What was he doing, talking to her like this? Like he didn't know why she fled at the sight of him. Like he didn't know he was the reason she did it.

Like it hadn't been his suggestion in the first place for her to do so.

A sharp sigh from him stopped her from voicing any of those thoughts. "I get the feeling, Slayer… that at some point I said something to make you think I'd rather not have you around." He cocked is head, eyebrows going up. "But, seeing as that's not the case, I can't figure out how I managed to pull that off."

Buffy set her jaw, trying not to let the caress of his words act as a balm for the searing pain in her soul. Instead she frowned at him, resolute. Expecting that he would straighten up, realize that she wasn't going to explain what he already knew to be the problem, and apologize.

Unfortunately, he just continued staring at her. Waiting. Looking like he was sincerely trying to figure this situation out, but he couldn't do it without her help.

Crossing her arms, Buffy decided to go ahead and unfold her little emotional road map for him. Lay it out where they could both look at it, so he couldn't go on playing the part of clueless bystander. After all, he was sort of undead. Could wait forever for this conversation to move forward if he wanted to. She didn't have the same luxury. "You… said that it wasn't an accident. That we'd been running into each other. After… what happened."

"All right…" he said, unfazed. As if he were expecting her to deliver another blow. Apparently not realizing that _that was it_.

"And… so yeah." She gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Spike stood there, looking as though he was scrolling through the conversational rolodex in his mind, finding and then tracing over the dialogue in question. As he did, a smile bloomed between his cheeks, cradled beneath a gaze that was now full of amused disbelief. And a little bit of frustration. "Hold up." He raised his hand, giving a little shake of his head. "Wait. You mean to tell me that we've gone nearly a _week _without seeing each other… all because I decided to take this piss a little?"

Buffy wrinkled her brow in confusion. What did him going to the bathroom have to do with any of this?

Laughing, the sound shook her out of her reverie, and he advanced on her again. This time her feet remained in place, deciding not to protest such a move. "Dammit, Slayer… here I thought that was our primary mode of communication." He shook his head again. "Why'd you choose that moment to think I actually meant it?"

"I just… thought…" Looking up into his gaze, which was like looking up into the vast freedom of a clear blue sky, Buffy found herself struggling to come up with an answer.

Why _had_ she interpreted his comment that way?

After all, Spike was right. The bedrock of their relationship consisted of sarcasm, reinforced with banter rebar and decorated with a lattice of insults. The very first words he'd ever spoken to her were full of mirth. Hell, right up until the point when his lips had met hers for the first time, she wasn't sure their interactions would ever transcend the realm of snarkiness.

Before she could agree with him about the absurdity of her reaction though… Before she could laugh with him and sigh and hold his hand as they stepped across the chasm that had separated them for what already felt like too long… an awful truth hit her.

It was cold and slimy and harsh. Slapping against her flesh like a wet rag. Then sliding down her spine with the lethargy of a slug.

She felt out of breath in that instant. Like she was suffocating. A haze of panic stormed through her eyes, and she looked up at him in desperation. Hoping he would have an answer that could peel the slug-rag off her back.

"But… what if you're right?" she asked, her voice timid. As if it understood that the rest of her brain didn't even want to broach the subject with him. Wanted instead to continue living in ignorant bliss. "I mean… what if… what if it _is_ best for us to just… stay away from each other?"

Spike drew back from her at that, clearly confused.

"I mean… it's not exactly fun. Being around you. Feeling the way I do and knowing that I can't… that _we _can't…"

"I get where you're going, Slayer," he said, raising his hand in a move to touch her, but drawing away in the last instant. Knowing that at this point, physical contact might just make things worse. "You really gonna suggest we stop seeing each other altogether though? I mean, I get why you want things to be the way they are now, but-"

"I don't _want_ things to be this way, Spike," she protested, choosing that moment to step away from him. Feeling hurt by his implication. "You think I actually want to not to be able to be with you? You think it's my _fault_?"

He growled at that. "No, Slayer… I'm not-"

"That's exactly _it_, Spike! God knows you say it enough. _Slayer_. I'm the Slayer. _You're_ a vampire, and _I'm…_" she sighed, looking away from him as she felt the first sharp sting of tears against her eyelids. Everything was surging within her at once. All of the excitement and frustration and pain and loneliness of the last few weeks.

The intense, unquenchable feelings she had for this creature before her. Feelings she couldn't soothe by bathing in his presence, but also could not erase from the chalkboard of her mind. There was the despair she'd felt at thinking he no longer wanted anything to do with her. Then the relief that she'd been wrong. Finally, the reminder that it still didn't make a difference, because he was still what he was, and so was she.

"This thing that's between us," she said, turning to look him in the eye again. "I want it. I do." A shake of her head. "But how can I…? Knowing what you are. I mean… I know you have a soul… I know you're literally just a heartbeat away from being a real live person, but… you're still a vampire. You've killed people." The words felt vile as she swept them out of her mouth. "A lot of people."

Clenching her fists, she became aware of the stake she'd been holding all this time. Looking down at it, she shook her head. "I still don't even know how to be the Slayer. Not really. And I just… I don't know how I can be her and be with you at the same time. I don't-"

"Buffy." His hands wrapped around her shoulders. "Stop. It's okay, love. It's all right."

Looking up at him, she saw pain in his eyes. Empathy. As if he were trying to neutralize some of her turmoil by affecting the same in his own soul. Basic chemistry. Like dissolves like.

At that thought, Buffy couldn't help but laugh internally.

_Willow would be so proud_.

"You don't have to… Wasn't trying to blame you for any of this. Really."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm sorry. There's just so much…"

In that moment, it was nothing but sheer willpower that stopped her from leaning into his chest. Welcoming the strong, solid belt of his arms that would've embraced her if she did.

She couldn't let herself do that. Bury herself in him. She'd probably never climb back out again.

"Listen…" he prompted, the finger that appeared under her chin helping to draw her back to the present. "What's between us and what isn't… We don't have to figure it out tonight. Can fight that battle some other time if you want. Only just started speaking to each other again, after all," he said, the tone in his voice telling her he was trying to lighten the mood. Keep her afloat in her mental whirlpool.

Buffy knew that such a notion would, in the end, be a small comfort. Wouldn't really make things any easier, really. Because she already knew how this story would have to end. Or, more accurately… she knew there never _could_ be a story in the first place.

She and Spike were two separate novels. In the same genre, of course. Perhaps sitting on the same shelf with each other. They might share similar plot points, maybe even a crossover between characters here and there, but they would always be separated by their hardcover bindings. Would ultimately have to start and end in completely different places.

For now though, she was willing to jump on board whatever train happened to pass her by with the promise of making her journey a little easier. "I think I'd be okay with that."

"Right then," Spike said, straightening up with a satisfied grin. "What say we go see if we can't find something to kill?"

|#|+-+-+|#|

"You? _You're_ the Slayer?" Amazing how expressive a dummy could be, considering he only had a set of eyebrows to work with. Buffy nodded. "Damn! I knew a Slayer in the thirties. Korean chick. Very hot. We're talking _muscle_ tone. Man we had some times."

From the colour of his voice, Buffy guessed he wasn't talking about the kind of muscles people typically worked on at the gym. And until that moment, she hadn't realized that was an actual… _thing_. Also, she kind of wondered how it was that _Sid_ would have any idea about… or why he'd be talking to her about it.

And then decided to stop thinking those thoughts, because… _yuck_ with a side of _eugh_.

"Hey, that was pre-dummy, alright?" he said off the look she gave him. "Now, I was a guy!"

She wasn't sure what triggered it… his talk of the Slayer, of being a guy- a demon hunter guy -who had a thing for a Slayer, or the fact that he was speaking of things that happened around the time her grandmother would've been her age, but… she suddenly realized that she maybe had an opportunity here. For some insight. It was a long-shot, but… well, she was sitting on a catwalk talking to an animated dummy. Pretty much the _definition_ of a long-shot, right there. "So you've… been around for a while then. Probably seen a lot, met a lot of people."

"More than I like to think about most days."

"Did you…" Buffy knew there wasn't really any way to ask this question without being _totally_ obvious about it, but nevertheless she continued forward. "Ever meet a vampire by the name of Spike? Or, he might've also been calling himself William the Bloody…"

Those hairy caterpillars on his forehead dipped downward, and he thought for a moment. "Met a lot of vamps in my day, but the name does ring a bell… Hm." He pondered for a few long seconds, and Buffy was about to tell him to forget about it when he looked at her again. "This guy a Limey?"

"Huh?"

"British."

"Oh, yeah."

"Scar right about here?" he asked, pointing over his left eye. "Lean build, average height?"

"Yeah."

Sid nodded, turning to look over the stage again. "Met him back in the twenties. Wisconsin. He helped me take out a pair of Meklin demons on their way to a Packers game."

Buffy decided she wasn't even going to _ask_ him to explain that one.

"Saw him again in the late sixties after that. Betting he didn't recognize me though." He laughed, looking down at himself, and then up again. "He was in a club that night, watched my set. I was getting shoved into the van later on and saw him at the other end of the alley, taking out a few of his own kind." Sid shook his head. "Never did ask him why he was hitting for our team, but then, wasn't about to complain either."

"So, he's been good for a while then…" Buffy murmured, more to herself than him.

Sid heard her though, of course. He might be made of wood, but somehow his ears still functioned just fine. "What's got you asking about a demon I'd bet has a good half century on me, toots?" He lifted one eyebrow at her. "You two got a thing going on?"

"What? No! No, there's no _thing_. There's…" A whole lot of confusion, and heartache, and desire, but… "There's nothing."

"Mhm," the dummy grunted, falling silent with her none-too-subtle hint that she wouldn't be persuaded to discuss it. Neither of them said anything else for a moment or two, until he turned to look at her. "Listen sis, can I give you some advice, one demon slayer to another?"

"As long as it stays of the PG thirteen variety, then sure."

"I know I'm an exception to the rule, but for the most part, for people in our line of work, life is short and brutal. Ain't much sunshine when you spend all your time in the dark fighting evil, know what I mean?"

"Yeah," she said, voice quiet as she tried to keep her mind from going to all the scary places it stumbled upon when she contemplated her existence as the Slayer. "I do."

"So, do yourself a favour. You manage to find yourself someone, or some_thing_ that makes you happy, gives you a reason to go out every night and risk your hide for a world that won't thank you for it, and that's already pretty rotten as it is…" He snared her gaze in his own, and again Buffy couldn't believe how deep those glassy, inhuman eyes really were. "If you find that… you grab hold of it and don't even _think_ about letting go."


	12. Nightmares

**Author's**** Note**: I just want to thank you all for your patience with this story. I know there's been a lot of back-and-forth and angst and will-they-or-won't-they... and I can't promise that's gonna end right away. I'm not doing it because I enjoy it, believe me... I'm doing it because this is where the characters need to be right now. So again, thank you for being awesome and wonderful, and continuing to read/comment. This has been one helluva ride so far, and it's still barely begun :)

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><p>Buffy felt him before she heard him. Only after discovering he was a vampire had she begun to pay attention to that tickling sensation where her spine met her sacrum. Plucking out a few chords on the nerves there, which then echoed through her extremities and deep down into her gut. Spike had his very own tune, too. Most of the other vamps she stumbled upon ricocheted through her like some generic commercial jingle. Noisy and obnoxious and easily forgotten. His was one she wished she could keep on replay. Just a continuous loop of Spike tinglies all day, every day.<p>

"So, did I happen to down a bag of tainted blood, or was there _actually_ a swarm of giant wasps flying around on Friday?"

"No, definitely no hallucinating. It was… kind of a whole big thing."

"Wait." Frowning, he pulled her to a stop with a hand at her elbow. "Does this also mean that I'm _not_ being forced to go on tour as a replacement for one of the Spice Girls?"

A shout of laughter burst out of her at that. "_What_?"

"Bloke came storming into my place that very day. Tried shuffling me onto some tour bus- in broad bloody daylight, might I add –saying that Sparky Spice or Salty Spice or somesuch had gotten injured, and now they needed _me_ to fill in. Tried showing a little fang to get him to bugger off, but the little twerp wouldn't budge."

"Spike. Are you being serious right now?"

"As a fucking A-bomb. Know it's been a few days since it happened, but… I'm still expecting him to come charging in again. Seemed bloody set on having me join the troupe. When I wouldn't budge, he said he was off to make some arrangements and he'd be back to pick me up."

"And… you didn't clue in that something was fishy when he was asking you to, I don't know… join the Spice _Girls_?"

Spike just glared at her, clearly traumatized by the experience. More for the damage it did to his pride than out of fear, no doubt.

"Okay. Then, you definitely win," she said, still laughing. "Clowns and stage-fright got _nothin_' on the Spice Girls."

"I'm getting the impression that you know what the hell was going on, then?"

She nodded, explaining to him about Billy being in the coma, and the baseball coach who'd put him there. How the wonderful mystical Hellmouthy goodness they were surrounded by had made everyone else's nightmares come true along with Billy's.

"Bloody hell."

"That about sums it up," she agreed, kicking at a rock as she strode forward. "Which brings me back to the part where _your_ worst nightmare is tagging in for one of the Spice Girls."

"Not exactly my _worst_ nightmare, pet," he drawled, slanting one eye at her. "Vampire, here. Got a lot of nasties rolling around in the old cranium."

"But you said-"

"Had a couple of other… incidents… but being that we live on the Hellmouth, those didn't seem quite as unbelievable as the other."

Buffy refused to consider what her life had become when the appearance of demons and ghouls were a more reasonable occurrence than an agent for a pop music group. "Oh. Okay, well, in that case… no need to elaborate. Consider the picture gotten by me."

"So what about you, then?" he asked after they'd walked a few yards in silence.

"What about me what?"

"Well, I showed you mine. Gonna return the favour, pet?"

Buffy came to a slow stop then, watching him get a couple of paces ahead of her before doing the same. He wanted her to tell him about her nightmares. There would probably be no hesitation on her end if they'd been anything like those of her friends. Their nightmares had just been _embarrassing_. Okay, yeah, so Xander's thing with the clowns was probably pretty terrifying, but… the things she'd experienced were so much… _more_. They were deep, personal fears. Little black seeds that infiltrated not just the folds of her cerebral cortex, but the crevices of her soul.

She wasn't sure she was ready to share that kind of information with Spike. Especially since after everything, she had no idea where they stood with each other anymore.

Still… being with him right now, it was like none of that- the questions, the confusion –mattered. As if they were back to being two people who cared about each other. Two people who understood each other, who just wanted to be there for one another.

And that was something she could really, _really_ use these days. That ear to chew on. The shoulder to lean against. Willow and Xander were great, and they did their best when they could, but… they just _didn't _understand the places she had to go sometimes.

They never would.

Spike, on the other hand… he knew about the dark places. He'd owned property in the dark places for over a century. Hell, he'd _created_ some of that darkness all by himself.

It made it easy… almost irresistible… to talk to him about these things.

"I was supposed to visit my Dad for the weekend. I mean, I _did_, but that day he showed up at school early, said we needed to talk. H-he told me that…" Buffy hesitated, wondering how much she wanted to tell him. She hadn't even repeated any of this to Willow. There hadn't seemed to be much point. It wasn't real, so why dwell on it? She'd just gotten back from a fantastic weekend with him, full of shopping and a trip to the beach and dinner in a snazzy restaurant. She _knew_ he still loved her as much as he always had.

But she still couldn't shake the memory of her father saying those things to her… the frank expression on his face, the casual tone of his voice. As if it were all something he'd accepted as true long, long ago. "Well, pretty much that he regretted ever having me, and that I was a disappointment in every way imaginable, and that's why him and my Mom got divorced."

Spike's face contorted into a look of anguish as she told him this, and he stepped closer to her. "Oh, pet," he lifted his index finger to let it trail along a lock of hair hanging by her face.

"It's okay, really. I know… I _know_ that it wasn't him."

"Yeah, but, you didn't at the time. Must've near cracked you in half."

"To put it plainly, yeah."

"Of course, that was just the salad before the main course. Or, maybe it was more like the side dish. 'Cause the two of them were _definitely_ on the same plate."

Amusement was now threaded through the concern on his face. A small laugh fluttered out of him. "What d'you mean?"

Buffy looked up at him. "I… sort of spent act two of that day as a vampire."

He blinked. Opened his mouth, frowned, and blinked a second time. "Come again?"

"The Master got free for a little while. 'Cause of all the mojo Billy was working. He found me in a cemetery, and buried me alive." A shudder ran through her at the thought. It had seemed like only seconds passed between the time that the coffin lid closed on her, and when she was clawing up out of the earth, but they had been seconds too long. "When I finally climbed out… I… I was a vampire. Fangs, bloodlust, and all. Except, somehow I was also still _me_, so… hooray for not having the urge to massacre my friends right from the start."

"You…" the word came out almost as a whisper. His eyes were pinned to her, roaming over her face, but it was almost as if he was looking through her, at something just below the surface. "You _really_…?"

"I really."

"God…" He raised his fingers to her cheeks, though they hovered there, not actually touching her flesh. "Bet…" He swallowed, as if his voice was squeaking out around a boulder in his throat. "Bet you were just _gorgeous_."

His words struck her like a cannonball. It felt as though someone had injected crushed ice into her veins, the fragments scraping through the muscular passageways; cold and harsh and painful. "I… _what_?" She took two big steps back from him. "What the _hell_ does that mean?"

Spike dropped his head, blowing a sigh out of his nose as his jaw clenched. "Bollocks. Said that out loud, did I?"

"Yeah, little bit," she ground out. Another step backwards. She didn't even recognize him anymore. One minute she'd been standing in front of the first person she'd had _real_ feelings for since she'd lived in LA, finding it hard to remember why she wasn't asking him to ask _her_ out for coffee some time, and the next…

Now she remembered. Remembered that he was a _vampire_. A vampire who'd killed two Slayers before invading her life. Who had a soul, yeah, but… he'd executed one of those Slayers while he had it, so apparently he was just a _killer_.

"How… how could you say that to me?" she asked, feeling her forehead contorting back and forth between anguish and outrage. She was angry at him now. Because even though he was all of those things- vampire, vampire with a soul, slayer of Slayers –it had seemed that somehow, he had the capacity to care for her.

An illusion he'd just ripped away.

"You do remember that I was living in my _worst. Nightmare._ When that was happening, don't you?" She shook her head, glaring at him, not even trying to dampen the hurt and betrayal in her gaze. "God, Spike, how can you even _think_ that I-"

"Because it's what I _am_, you daft little…!" he shouted, stomping forward to close the distance between them again. "You _do_ remember that, don't you?" he growled, throwing her words back at her. In the next second, his face morphed into its demon mould, golden eyes and ridges staring down at her.

Buffy cringed a little. She hadn't been expecting this anger from him. "Of _course_ I do."

"You sure about that?" he squinted at her as best he could, the structures of his demon visage not allowing for much mobility in that region. "'Cause it seems to me, you like to imagine that the demon just _vanishes_ because you can't see him anymore. But it's always here, pet. Always just below the surface. You kiss me, you're kissing _it_, too."

Buffy didn't know how they'd gotten here. From what had started out as a friendly conversation, to confessing their nightmares to each other, to confronting the very thing that had been keeping them apart up until this point. Spike was right though. Despite what she'd said, for a while now she had been thinking of him as just _the guy she couldn't be with because of general badness_. The 'vampire' factor in the equation was something she had started to ignore because… well, her life was weird enough as it was without the constant reminder that she had _feelings_ for one of the things she had a duty to slay.

And… she was trying to take Sid's advice to heart. About holding onto the thing that made her happy.

Or, the thing that _did_ make her happy right up until a minute ago.

"Well then, I guess it's a good thing I'm not planning to _do_ that any time soon," she snarled back, arms crossing. "Have a nice unlife, Spike." Spinning around, she headed for the entrance to the cemetery, knowing that their argument had probably chased away any vamps lurking around. Which pissed her off, because now, she _really_ wanted to hit something.

She'd made it maybe ten steps before his voice bit her heels. "Buffy, wait."

"No," she barked, not bothering to look back at him. "Do _not_ follow me. Unless you want to be victim number three for the night."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Buffy…"

Crap. This whole getting-past-him thing wasn't made any easier by the fact that her brain continued manufacturing _dreams_ about Spike.

"_Buffy_."

Wait. She wasn't asleep anymore. Hence the alarm clock staring her in the face- _3:08 a.m._.

So, what…?

Rolling over, she couldn't stop the surprised squeak from popping out of her. Spike was standing just inside her window, the blinds behind him swaying in the breeze.

"_Spike?_ What the _hell_ are you doing here?" she whisper-yelled, sitting up and bringing the covers with her to bunch them around her upper body. Her flannel pyjamas weren't exactly _revealing_, but she felt the need to have as many layers of fabric between them as possible.

"Came to talk."

At that, the previous portion of the evening came rushing back at her through her fog of sleepiness. "Seems to me we already did enough of that tonight."

"I know. But I wanted to explain why I said what I did. Set things right."

"Well, then you might want to start by _not_ sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night. Do you _realize_ how creepy that is?"

"You're the one left your window unlocked."

"That doesn't mean it's an invitation for you to just climb in whenever you want to, you big dope! If you want to set things right, maybe try the front door?"

"Oh." Though she couldn't see his face, the brief pause seemed to suggest he was considering her advice. "Right."

Buffy couldn't help the quiet laugh that came out of her. He _really_ had no idea that appearing in her bedroom at this time was in any way abnormal. Poor socially inept vampire.

Except… except _not_. Annoyed with herself for slipping so easily, she dispatched some troops to repair the small hole his blunder had poked in her defensive walls.

"So what is it you wanna say?" Hey. She probably wouldn't get back to sleep for a while now anyway. Might as well make the insomnia worthwhile. Leaning over, she turned on the lamp at her bedside. Spike winced a bit at the light, a hand going up to shield his eyes. "Is this the part where you apologize for everything and tell me you _didn't really mean it_?"

He scoffed. "Hardly. Meant every _word_ of it."

Oh. Well, _that_ she hadn't been expecting. Hadn't he come here to make things better?

"Because the fact of the matter is, pet… I'm a vampire. Can hide it of course, but can't make it go away." He took a brave step toward her, although it was obvious he didn't intend to impinge upon her territory beyond what she was comfortable with. "Means I see things a little differently than the average bloke. Means I think you'd look bloody _ravishing_ if you came over all bumpy in the night."

Buffy was dumbstruck. What part of her running away from him the first time he'd said this had he not understood? Now he was in her bedroom, repeating everything, with no sign of remorse or regret for holding such an opinion.

…She was gonna have to throw him out her window, wasn't she?

"But," he snapped the word out, voice clenching its fingers around every ounce of her attention. "What you've gotta understand, love, is that there's a big difference between being able to appreciate something, and actually _wanting_ it to happen. I don't sit around fantasizing about the day you're turned, Slayer." He shook his head, and pointed a finger in her direction. "That ever happens, I'll stake you myself. That's a promise."

Okay, that was a bit unexpected. "Y-you would?"

"Bloody right! Got no interest in you if you're not _you_, Summers."

Buffy didn't know what surprised her more. His insistence that he would want nothing to do with a vampire version of herself, or the fact that he'd basically just said that he still had feelings for her. She hated the way her heart was swelling at those words, expanding in her chest like a hot air balloon with nowhere to go. "So… you… right now, you have interest in me?"

Spike opened his mouth to respond, then clapped it shut, as though he'd just realized the implication of his statement. His eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was arguing with himself over whether to answer. Like a bear about to place his foot in the trap, simply out of sheer curiosity as to whether or not it would snap shut on him. "Of course I do," he finally said in a voice that was small but confident.

A flame burst beneath the mouth of that hot air balloon, and suddenly she was finding it difficult to breathe. God, this was all… it was so _stupidly_ complicated. Spike had feelings for her, and yeah, she had feelings for him. Still. Despite the things he'd said and done to her, despite what he _was_… she'd been trying for weeks now and she just couldn't turn them off. She'd closed the tap on the faucet but there was still a little dribble of fluid that made it through.

Part of her wanted to leap out of bed and crush herself against him, while the other part wanted to yell at him to just _stay away from her_. To stop making this whole getting-over-him thing so hard by never actually _leaving_. Because they couldn't be together. They just _couldn't_. It was wrong and bad and not of the good. Spike was a vampire. A killer. Even after having his soul restored, she knew he'd taken the life of at least one person.

One _Slayer_.

"Spike," she said as he'd been turning to leave. He had mumbled something to her after the silence had stretched for a few long moments, then backed up toward her window. He stopped now though, regarding her with curiosity. "Tell me about her. The New York Slayer." Every muscle in his body tensed at that, even those in his jaw and forehead scrunching up. "_Please_. I… I want to understand. I _need_ to understand. Is… is she the only person you've killed since-"

"Told you to leave it alone, didn't I?"

"But _why_?" she asked, feeling her own face scrunching up in confusion. "You said it wasn't how the books say it was. So _tell me_ how it was."

Spike dropped his head with a slow shake. A cool stream of air escaped from between his lips, and he looked up at her again. "Sleep tight, Summers."

"Spike!" she called as he leapt through her window. She would've chased after him, but she knew that by the time she untangled herself from her sheets, he'd be halfway down the street. Instead she fell back against her mattress, burying her head into her pillow. Feeling frustrated and confused, but helpless to do anything about it. Like she was stuck in zero gravity, trying to reach an escape hatch six inches away, but unable to close the distance no matter how much she kicked and pushed. No way to go forward, no way to go back. Just… stuck.


	13. Out of Mind, Out of Sight

**Author's Notes:**Ooh man. I really don't know about this chapter. I'm not sure that it's gonna come across the same way I imagine it... I'm probably just being paranoid and insecure but nevertheless, I hope this has been worth the wait :)

Some dialogue from Season 1, 'Out of Mind, Out of Sight'

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><p>Twirling her stake in one hand, Buffy blew out a puff of air as she stared down at the tombstone in front of her. "Listen, Mister Gaviller. I've got a trig test in the morning that I still haven't studied for, so could ya do me a big favour and get rising already?"<p>

No answer, of course. The vamp-to-be in question was still six feet under, which left a couple tons of dirt between her and his vocal cords. Plus, being evil and all, after hearing that plea of hers he'd probably make a point of taking his time crawling out of his grave.

When sparks started dancing down her spine a few minutes later, she thought maybe he was finally making his way to the surface. Except these tinglies had a specific feel to them. Like the back of her neck was a painter's canvas, and it was being splattered with red, black, and blue. And somewhere off to the side, tucked in a corner where it would avoid being pelted by the colourful splotches, an old stereo was playing punk music off a cassette tape.

She recognized the combination of colours. Had heard the tune many times before. There was really only one vampire who could be approaching her at that moment. Only one vampire whose presence could melt the tension in her muscles, like a bag of candy left out in the hot summer sun.

Spike lowered himself onto the headstone two down from the one she was resting on. She turned to say hello, but the words got stuck in her throat when she found his gaze focused on the sky. Jumping from the moon to the buckshot blast of stars surrounding it and back again. He looked… absorbed. Lost in thought. As though, even if she _did_ say something, he wouldn't hear her anyway.

After a good minute of silence though, she decided to try again with a _hello_. He wouldn't be here if he didn't expect at least some semblance of a conversation to transpire between them, right?

But he beat her to it.

"I didn't kill her."

She was halfway through her greeting by the time her brain caught up with what he'd _actually_ said. Her face crumpled into a frown. "Huh?"

"The Slayer. In New York. I didn't kill her. I mean… I _did_… but I didn't."

Buffy didn't ask for clarification. That statement made her feel like she was sitting behind the wheel of a car, stopped at a railroad crossing as a freight train rumbled towards her. Carrying a full cargo of information. And it would pass her by in its entirety if she just waited. No sense easing herself out onto the tracks- she might miss something. Or worse, get demolished when it hit her. Best to just stay here where it was safe. To stay silent. Let him do all the talking.

"Her name was Nikki. Gorgeous girl, inside and out. We fought a few times, her and I. She was a real scrapper." He turned a fond gaze on Buffy, an invisible string pulling one corner of his mouth upwards. "You've got a bit of her style, actually. Met her on the roof of some corporate headquarters building. We were chasing the same vamp, caught up to it in the same place… but naturally she thought I was on her team."

"On…"

"The vamp's. It was a 'she'," he clarified. "She dusted it, and I took a runner. Eventually sought her out again though; figured it for a good time, hanging 'round with a Slayer. Took a few tries to finally convince her I was on her side, of course. Once I did though… _that's_ when the fun started."

Buffy wasn't sure how much she was enjoying this story so far. The fact that his encounter with this Nikki girl seemed pretty similar to theirs had her wondering if this was just part of Spike's _thing_ with Slayers. If he hadn't had some short-lived love affair with _her,_ too.

"We'd go out hunting together. Bet on who could take out the most baddies in one night." He looked down at himself, grabbed one flap of his leather coat. "Won this from her in a wager." A short laugh. "Didn't think she'd actually give it up, but she wasn't the type to welch on a bet."

Well. Sounds like they had a lot of fun together. Him and his _other_ Slayer.

Buffy knew it was petty and just plain _awful_ to be jealous of a dead girl, but… she was starting to wonder if Spike's desire for her might have a whole lot less to do with _who_ she was and more with _what_ she was.

The frown that prickled his eyebrows when he looked over at her meant her inner grumblings must've been more apparent than she'd intended. He gave her a small grin. "Stop fretting, Slayer. Wasn't like that between us. Never was, never would've been. She was a bit of all right, is all. We made a good team."

"I-I wasn't…"

"Yeah you were. Not that I mind," he added, his expression convincing her that she didn't need to be ashamed of the little twangs of jealousy spicing her bloodstream. Not in his presence, anyway.

Spike cast his gaze skyward again. Fished a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit it, blowing out a cool grey stream of smoke before continuing. "One night I got wind of a beastie that was making a nuisance of itself in the subway tunnels. Killed a few homeless fellas. Even got a tourist and a college kid. Anyway, Nik and I caught up to it, and… well… let's just say that three of us started that fight, and only one walked away from it."

Sure that she was misunderstanding something, Buffy frowned, letting his story tumble around in her head for a moment. Eventually she straightened up and walked over to stand in front of him. He wouldn't meet her gaze. "So… you _didn't_ kill her?"

"Not with my own hands, no," he said, head ducked. "But I might as well have. Led her right to it, didn't I? She didn't have to be in that subway car."

Buffy could understand why he blamed himself. Even though they both knew this Nikki girl would've died _eventually_… perhaps even later that same night. It was why she didn't try to console him. Didn't assure him that he'd played no part in the other Slayer's death. He would never accept it, and she wouldn't completely mean it, either. "So, the stuff in the Watcher's diaries- I mean, the part about it _actually_ being you who… it's just a mistake?"

"In a manner of speaking," he muttered, obviously unwilling to relinquish his point of view on the matter. "Nikki probably told her Watcher about me at some point. Not sure _what_ she said, but… he saw me leaving the underground that night. She'd called to check in before we shoved off. Must've figured I turned on her, hired some extra muscle to help finish the job." He shrugged, flicking some ash to the ground. "Didn't bother setting the record straight. Figured one more Slayer to my name would keep the Big Bads from coming at me, thinking I was a traitor… and keep the White Hats thinking they still had something to be afraid of."

"Spike…" Buffy wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him or slap him. Kiss him or stake him. This… the fact that he'd supposedly killed the Slayer in New York… it was the biggest reason she'd kept her distance from him since finding out what he was. Yeah, the being-a-vampire bit weighed heavy in her mind as well, but… she had found that easier to deal with than the idea that even with a soul, he'd apparently still had enough carnage within him to take a human life.

She couldn't _stand_ this. The lying, the constant confusion… one minute it seemed like he still wanted her, the next it seemed as though he was reluctant to help bulldoze through the barriers that separated them.

"Haven't killed a human in nearly a hundred years, Slayer. Not since the curse. Fed on a couple, in some of my weaker moments, but even the last one of those was…" He let the sentence hang, choosing instead to take a drag of his cigarette.

Buffy wanted to reach out and comb her fingers through his hair. Grab onto the lapels of his jacket and…

"Anyway," he said, suddenly alert, looking her in the eye for the first time since he'd started telling his story. He stood up, flicking his cigarette butt over her shoulder. "You wanted to know the story, so… there it is. Good luck with, uh… Mister Gavilller there," he said, waving a hand at the headstone.

He was walking away. He was walking away after _that_? Buffy stepped forward to follow him. "Spike!"

Except a voice behind her halted her pursuit.

"Holy crap! Was the heck was I doing _underground_?"

_Dammit_. Of _course _this guy had to rise _now_. She'd only been waiting for the past _two hours_. "Spike!" she yelled as she turned to the erupted gravesite. Bending down, she grabbed the guy by the wrist and did what she could to help him expedite his escape from his earthen tomb. "I swear, if you disappear I am _never_ talking to you again!"

"Uh… who _are _you talking to?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at the fledgling. "Not you…" A glance at his tombstone. "Mark."

Giving a final yank, she exposed enough of his chest to strike her heart-shaped target. The soil at her feet began to sink inwards, filling the gap where the now very dusty Mark Gaviller had just been.

Hopping clear of the mini avalanche, she spun around, searching the darkness for her other quarry. "Spike? Spike!" Finding nothing, she muttered to herself. "Stupid dumb English-"

"Over here, Summers."

Spinning the rest of the way around, she found him sitting against the same gravestone he'd been at a moment ago.

"Oh."

"Yeah." A flick of his eyebrows. "So."

"So." Buffy said, staring at him with her arms crossed. Trying to recapture the thoughts and emotions that had been roaring through her like a squadron of fighter jets just a moment ago. As she did, her eyes narrowed, her muscles clenched, and she felt her blood reaching that point where it was simmering. Those last few degrees to go before it reached a full boil.

Then someone turned up the heat just a _notch_, and…

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Beg pardon?"

"I said, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Uh… should I start with the part about being a vampire, or… were you hoping to work a different angle here?"

"I've got an idea." She marched towards him, stabbing the ground with every step she took. Spike looked concerned, no doubt because she was still clutching her stake. "How about we start with the part where you're the biggest idiot there ever was? Like… if there was an entire country… no, an entire _planet_ called Idiotonia, you'd be its president. President of the _whole planet._ _Forever_!"

"All right, well, sure. We could start there."

"Spike," she barked. "You _just _told me that you didn't kill that Slayer in New York."

"Uh huh…"

Eyes going wide, she couldn't believe he was forcing her to explain further. "You just told me that you haven't killed anyone since you got your soul!"

"I did at that…"

"Okay, do you _like _seeing me angry, or are you just purposely being slow right now?"

"Bit of both, probably."

"Spike!" Her mood changed just a fraction then. Shifting from a thunderous storm to a simple down-pouring of rain. "Why would you keep something like that from me? Why wouldn't you _tell _me that you're not… y'know… whatever it makes someone who can kill people even if they have a soul?

"A murderer?" he offered. "Ted Bundy?"

Buffy sighed. "Don't you think this is something I might've wanted to know back when I had a crossbow pointed at your chest? Or any time _between_ then and now?"

"Told you. I have my reasons for keeping quiet."

_Don't hit him, don't hit him. _"Then _explain _them to me! You keep saying that but…" _**Don't**_ _hit him. _"It's not good enough anymore, Spike. Not if we're ever going to…" she stopped at that. Reluctant to suggest anything about a relationship between the two of them when it was now so unclear whether he wanted such a thing. "It's just not enough."

He was quiet for a while after that. His eyes roaming over every cubic inch of the space that surrounded them. Except for the small pocket where they would meet her gaze. He looked up at the sky, then down to the earth. Let out a breath. "Tell me. If I'd come out with this, given you the scoop any sooner… that night in your kitchen, for instance. Would you have believed me?"

Buffy opened her mouth to answer. _Of course I would have_.

But that wasn't exactly true.

"I… would've wanted to."

A half-smile. "Yeah, well, that's not exactly the same thing, is it?"

She looked away, a twinge of guilt echoing through her core.

"It's all right, love. You'd have been right not to. Can't go trusting every vamp who feeds you some rot about being reformed. Unless you're looking for an easy way to get yourself killed."

"Yeah. I guess." She shrugged, rubbing her upper arm. "So is that it then? You kept this from me all this time because you didn't think I'd believe you?"

"Might be more to it."

Why is it that when she wanted him to shut up, Spike wouldn't stop talking… and yet when she really _needed_ to hear what he had to say, he was all Mr. Tight Lips?

The conversation-having part of him must still be evil.

"Such as…"

"Such as… I didn't want to lose you."

"…Huh?"

"I thought… that if you knew what happened between me and Nikki… if you knew how she died… then maybe you'd think the same thing might happen to you. That maybe I'd get you killed, too. That maybe, aside from the whole vampire bit, I'm not so safe to be around after all."

_What_?

…_That's_ what he thought?

"Spike…"

"Again, it's all right, Slayer. Couldn't expect you to-"

"You're the _only_ person that _does_ make me feel safe."

He looked up at her, having been stopped mid-rant. Clenching his jaw, apparently stunned by such a statement, he shook his head. "Not a person at all."

"Shut up," she said, her tone halfway between light-hearted and annoyed. "You don't get it, do you? Spike, you're the only person in my life who makes me feel… protected."

A snort of laughter. "Don't need protecting, Summers. You're-"

"The Slayer. I know. Which means that I'm doomed to spend every night of what is sure to be my _very _short life fighting vampires and demons and whatever else this Hellmouth decides to throw at me. It's my job to protect the world from all of it." Feeling brave, she took a step forward. Reached out to run her fingers down the inner edges of his lapels. "And… you're the only one who can do the same for me."

"Your knight in shining armour, am I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Super-human strength here? Like I have any use for knights in shiny armour. Or dull armour, for that matter." The smile he offered her said he agreed with her assessment. "I just mean… It's nice. Having you around when the Slayage happens. Knowing that while I'm looking out for the world, you're looking out for me. That you're watching my back."

He laughed, and it was accompanied by a cocked eyebrow. "Of course I am. It's quite nice to look at, you know. Although I _am _also rather fond of your front…"

Buffy slapped him on the shoulder. "Geez, will you quit it? We're kind of having a moment here."

Slowly, he rose from his seat on the headstone. His grin grew larger by the millisecond. "Are we?"

"Yes! With the sharing and the feelings and the…"

"…The what?" he prodded after she failed to complete her short list.

"I don't know. I thought I had a third thing, but… I guess not."

Still smiling, he reached down to enclose her hands in his. His hold was soft and gentle, like he was cradling a baby bird. He lifted them to his lips and kissed the knuckles on her right hand. "So…" He did the same to her left. "Where does that leave us then?"

Buffy felt her eyebrows knitting together as she glanced up to those two cool, calm sapphires of his. Boring into her. Unearthing the deeper surfaces of her soul. Ones she managed to keep hidden from everyone in the world. Everyone except _him_, that is.

"You really didn't…?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Gave you the truth, love. Nothing but."

"Yeah. You've kind of got a habit of doing that, don't you?" _Although, not without some serious convincing_, she added in her mind.

He responded with a one-shouldered shrug. "What can I say? I'm _deeply_ flawed."

She smiled back, even though inside her mind, a flood of distress was causing cymbals to crash and drums to beat between her ears. Creating background noise that wouldn't let her just _think_. Noise that forced her to say something along the lines of "What if I don't know yet?"

Eventually he was going to get tired of this. Of waiting. Of her not knowing. All she could do was hope that tonight wouldn't be the night. "What if this is something I want, but… it's not something I'm sure I can let myself have yet?"

"Well… If that's the case…" He released her hands and cupped her cheeks instead. Tipped her face up so he could kiss her forehead.

Buffy leaned into him for those few fleeting seconds. Delighting in the feel of his lips against whatever square inches of her flesh they could find.

"Then we leave it at that," he continued, running his thumbs along her jaw before letting them dribble down the sides of her neck. Leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "And I walk you home. If you'll let me."

Before he allowed his hands to fall away from her though, she reached up and threaded her fingers through his.

Screw it. She might not be ready for making with the kissage, or a relationship, or any of that other stuff, but… she wanted to at least hold his hand on the walk home. She could let herself have that much, couldn't she?

Buffy gave him a nod. "Yeah. I think I'm okay with that."

|#|+-+-+|#|

"Ooh!"

Spike didn't take any joy in sneaking up on the old man. Or, well… yeah, he did. It was, after all, one of the few sources of semi-evil fun his demon could have these days that didn't leave his soul sulking in a corner.

"A vampire casts no reflection," the Watcher said under his breath once he'd recovered, turning to re-examine the window before them.

"Please tell me that bit of information doesn't come as a surprise to you."

"No. No, of course not," Giles said with a sheepish smile. "It's simply the first time I've seen it with my own eyes."

"Right." Suppose that made sense. Any other vampire, and he probably wouldn't have lived through the experience.

Resting his hands on his belt, Spike took a moment to assess the librarian. The man responsible for keeping his Slayer alive. From what little she'd told him of the older man, he sounded capable enough.

Sounded like he actually _wanted _to keep her alive, too. Like he didn't just treat her as a girl-shaped tool for fighting the forces of darkness- a philosophy that some Watchers were all too eager to live by.

Of course, Spike would wait a little while before passing his own judgment, but so far the man had scored a few points with that arsenal he had locked up at the front of the library.

Wonder the school didn't say anything about it.

"Can untwist your knickers, mate. Not here to eat," Spike assured him, noticing the anxiety causing the other man's face to pinch at the corners.

Giles laughed out the breath he'd been holding. "Yes… Yes, Buffy mentioned that you don't- well, as a general rule you don't-"

"Been a while, yeah."

"She- she also told me about your innocence in the death of-"

"Yeah, let's keep that one between us, shall we?" Much as he didn't mind the Slayer passing on that bit of info to her Watcher, given that otherwise he'd probably have a stake at his heart right now, Spike didn't want it to get much further than them. His reputation had helped him to survive this long. Kept him from a dusty ending on more than one occasion. "Don't go blabbing it to the higher ups."

"I… Of course," he agreed, though his crinkled forehead said he didn't quite understand _why_ such a request was being made.

Spike didn't see a reason to enlighten him.

"Is that why you're here?" Giles prompted. "To see her?"

"No. Here to talk shop, actually."

Frankly, Spike didn't want to have any sort of touchy-feely conversation with Watcher-boy here. Especially not about the Slayer. Didn't want to be telling him how he felt about his charge.

How he yearned to be near her every second of every bloody day. How he had to call upon every last second of his long-buried Victorian upbringing to resist pinning her to the nearest vertical surface and attacking her lips with his. How, despite that, a small corner of his soul was still happy when she walked away from him at the end of every night. It told him that it was how things _should _be. That he should leave the Slayer in peace.

She deserved better than him. Spent too much time in the dark to be bringing any of it into her heart as well.

"Ah, yes. Of course. What can I… uh, what can I do for you?"

"You've been digging around for info on the Master, yeah?"

"Yes, the Vampire King."

Spike snorted. "Bet he'd love to hear you call him _that_."

This made Giles pause. "I…" he cocked his head. "Are you… acquainted with him?"

"Not exactly. Heard bits and pieces about him when I was turned, is all. Doubt it's anything that'd be of use. Nothing you don't already know. Older than dirt. Wrinkly in the forehead region. Sagittarius who enjoys a good massacre followed by a round of torture on a moonlit beach."

"Oh," Giles said, ducking his head with a smile. Though Spike could tell that his little grin was more out of discomfort than amusement. "Well, that's rather unfortunate. I've tried to learn as much as I can about him in preparation for the day when Buffy must face him."

"Which is why I'm here. Something's already in motion- something big. Can feel it… rattling my bones," he said through clenched teeth. "Haven't got a clue what it is though. That's where you come in, Watcher. I'd wager you've read all the Slayer lore there is. Might know something about what's coming."

"I-I've studied all the extant volumes, of course. But the, uh, most salient books of Slayer prophecy have been lost. The Tiberius Manifesto, the Pergamum Codex-"

"The Codex?" Spike asked, a flashbulb going off in his mind.

Giles nodded. "It's reputed to have contained the most complete prophecies about the Slayer's role in the end years. Unfortunately, the book was lost in the fifteenth century."

Spike grinned at the other man then, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. "_Not_ lost. Misplaced. I can get it."

He gasped, and Spike guessed that his hand was doing some of the work to keep the librarian on his feet in that moment. "That would be most helpful! Uh, my own volumes have… been rather useless of late," he said, the last part coming out quietly, as though he didn't want his dear books to hear him make such a hurtful comment.

Tilting his head, he took a look at the tome he was holding. _Legends of Vishnu_? "Yeah. Looks like you're really scraping the bottom of the barrel there."

Giles looked down at his book. "Oh… this is… there's an… invisible girl terrorizing the school."

"Invisible?" Spike asked, genuinely interested. As far as he knew, cooking up a case of the can't-see-'ems took some serious magical mojo. Couldn't imagine a teenage girl being capable of such a thing…

"Yes. In spite of the happenings around here, it's… actually quite fascinating." He lifted the book. "By all accounts it's a… a wonderful power to possess."

Spike just perked his eyebrows at that one. More than a few times in the last century and a quarter, he'd found himself briefly questioning his own existence when he was unable to locate his reflection in a mirror or window. Imagine the sort of things it'd do to a person's mind if they couldn't even see their own hand in front of their face. He made no comment on the matter though. Seemed like another situation where he'd be encroaching upon the territory of the touchy and feely.

"I'll get your Codex, Watcher. Two days, three at the most. Just do me a favour, and try not to get yourself killed in the meantime."


	14. Prophecy Girl

**Author's**** Notes:**I know. I know, I am a terrible, awful, horrible person and I cannot apologize enough for the lag in updates here. I knew that going for 'weekly' updates at the start was a mistake; writer's/editor's block ALWAYS comes to bite me. Gah!

FYI, there is likely to be another lag in updates again (I'm just warning you now); my muse screeched to a halt when I hit 'Inca Mummy Girl', and it's taking some time to kick-start. Rest assured though that until I say otherwise, this fic has NOT been abandoned. The plot bunnies are simply multiplying at a pace that Anya would likely appreciate (ie. not at all, haha).

THANK YOU for your patience, THANK YOU for being here, and I truly truly hope that you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

><p>At the sound of her laugh, Spike felt the layer of ice crackle as it hardened around his heart. Little crystals expanding inward to slash at the long-dead hunk of muscle. He straightened up, shooting a look at the Watcher before following her out of the office.<p>

When Buffy turned to look at them, he was sure he'd suddenly regained the need to breathe. His chest was tight. Painful. Like someone had strapped a wall of bungee cords to the surfaces of his lungs and was slowly cranking them inward on themselves. Hoping to make the soft tissue implode.

"So that's it, huh? I remember the drill. One Slayer dies, next one's called," she murmured. "Wonder who she is." She looked at the Watcher then, seeming to become aware of their presence for the first time. "Will you train her? Or will they send someone else? New Watcher for a new Slayer…"

"Buffy, I…"

"They say how he's gonna kill me?" she asked, chin wrinkling as the nonchalance she'd established already began to crumble. "Do you think it'll hurt?"

The first tears traced their way down her cheeks, and Spike wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and promise her that they were wrong. Forget all the distance and barriers they'd placed between each other in the last couple of months. It all seemed so ridiculous now.

He wanted to hold her while yelling at the Watcher to find a way around it. To get out his damn books and dissect them until he discovered a contradiction, an inconsistency, _anything_ that could assure them their Slayer… _his_ Slayer… wasn't going anywhere.

"Buffy…" Spike whispered, her name snagging the edges of his vocal cords on its way out.

Sharp green eyes sliced into him. "_Don't_ come _near_ me," she snarled. "Were you even gonna tell me?" she asked then, focus redirected to Giles.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to. That there was… some way around it. I…"

Angry as he'd been at the old man a moment ago, for even daring to suggest that Buffy was going to perish at the Master's hand, he couldn't hold on to it. It was obvious that this was ripping the Watcher apart just as much as it was him.

Guess that was why it was the norm for a Watcher and his Slayer to maintain a certain measure of disconnect between them. Made it a lot harder to lose her, to even _think _about losing her, when he saw her as a human being rather than an instrument.

"Yeah. Well. I've got a way around it. I quit!"

God, if only it were that easy. _If only_… "Slayer…"

"Stop _calling me that_!" Buffy yelled at him, hysteria scratching at the edges of her voice. A few more tears cut angry paths down to her jaw. "My name… is _Buffy_, okay? I'm not just some… some killing machine. I'm a girl. I'm a _person_ and I… I'm _not_ the Slayer anymore. Because I quit! I resign, I-I'm fired… you can find someone _else_ to stop the Master from taking over!"

"I'm not sure that anyone else can. All the… the signs indicate-"

"The _signs_?" She sounded almost insulted that Giles would use such a ridiculous concept to justify this situation. Which, apparently she was, because she picked up a book and hurled it at him. "Read me the signs!" she screamed, firing another hardcover at him. "Tell me my fortune! You're so useful sitting here with all your books! You're really a lot of help!"

"No, I don't suppose I am," Giles muttered from where he was standing.

Spike hated this. _Hated_ it. He'd never bought any of that prophecy crap before. Never cared what the texts had to say, or what mumbo jumbo some ancient scroll was spewing out. But now… this one… it was different. It was _her_. He felt like someone who'd chosen to stay in his home despite the fact that a hurricane was coming straight at him. Like he thought everything would be okay, but now that he could see the clouds and the rain and the whirling winds, he couldn't help but believe in the horror of it.

"Buffy…"

"No! You know what? You don't get to talk anymore. You're _never gonna die_, Spike, so what do _you_ have to worry about?"

"Besides _you_?" He shot back, taking a step forward. "Dammit, Buffy. You think I _want_ any of this to happen? Think I give a sodding damn about the world… about _any_ of it if you aren't still gonna be alive to see it tomorrow, and the day after that?" This made her hesitate. She stared back at him, distracted for a moment by what he'd betrayed with such statements. "We've just… we've gotta find a way-"

"I already did," she snapped. "I quit, remember? Pay attention!"

Despite the venom in her words, he found himself falling just a little bit further for her at that.

"Buffy, if the Master rises…" Giles eased himself back into the conversation. Trying to focus her on the magnitude of the situation. On _why_ this mattered so much, on why she would _have_ _to_ stop the Master, no matter how she went about it.

Apparently still stuck on the part where she was _going to die_ though- and understandably so –she gave a sharp shake of her head, ripping her cross from her neck. "I don't care!" she yelled through clenched teeth. Took a few deep breaths. Spike could hear her heart rate slowing with that. Revved up, but a little less than it had been a few seconds before. Calmer now, she looked at her Watcher with a gaze that insisted her words were no longer borne from the chaos of panic. "I don't care. Giles, I'm sixteen years old. I don't wanna die."

Spike was a man- a demon –of many and continuous words. He couldn't remember ever being at a loss for something to say when someone offered up a verbal challenge. But this…

He didn't think he'd ever really thought about it before. The life of a Slayer. How brief and brutal it was… how soon it ended. He hadn't ever really cared. A disposable, renewable resource, they were. One girl snuffed it, the next was called. When he'd extinguished the life of the Chinese Slayer, it had been an event for celebration, not regret. Even when Nikki was killed, he'd had his moment of remorse, carried the guilt with him for being the cause of it, but… he still accepted that it was just the way things were.

Bloody hell though… _sixteen_. She was just starting out, just beginning to discover who she was going to be…

Fucking Christ, he didn't want her to die either. Didn't want her to die _ever_. Especially not now.

Buffy was already walking out though. Cross thrown to the ground, footsteps punching the floor with each stride.

Spike forced himself not to follow. Made himself believe there were cinderblocks tied to his boots. Figured that in her mindset, he'd probably only earn himself a solid fist in his nose. Instead, he decided to stay here with the Watcher.

And he wasn't leaving until they found a bloody loophole.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Buffy realized she must've been sleeping. A conclusion she was only able to draw because now, she was waking up. At four in the morning.

Waking up to the sound of knuckles drumming on her window. Rolling over, she saw Spike crouched on the roof outside. A little thrill of excitement went through her, until she remembered what they'd been talking about the last time she saw him.

The Master.

Prophecy.

_Death_.

"Slayer?" he said when she rolled back over, voice trickling in where she'd left the window open a few inches.

"What do you want, Spike?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure, why not?" Apparently he and Giles had been making plans for her death behind her back. Things couldn't get much worse if he stepped into her bedroom, now could they?

She heard the window slide open behind her. When he climbed in, she could tell that he just stood there for a moment. Staring at her, or at things in her room, she didn't know. Didn't care.

Then he sighed, and stomped around the bed to face her. "Pack a bag, Slayer."

Buffy frowned up at him. "What?"

"Get your kit together, a few of your girly things… we're leaving. Town."

"Spike, what are you talking about?"

"Been at the library this whole time. Read through every book and scroll that mentions the Slayer, and they all say the same thing: your time's up. No way out. So you and me? We're gonna teach them a thing or two about free will, and get the hell out of Dodge."

"You… want me to run away with you?"

Spike glared down at her, as though she was missing the point. "I want you _alive_. So pack a bag, and let's get moving. Car's out front."

"You have a car?"

He growled. "_Slayer_!"

"All right, all right!" she said, sitting up. "I'm…" Buffy paused then, considering this proposal he was making, and whether she wanted to take it. Whether she trusted him enough, or had forgiven him for everything that happened earlier this evening. Then she decided it didn't really matter. She wanted to live, and he was with her on that. He was giving her a sure-fire way to _make_ that happen.

She looked up at him, jaw set, chin raised in determination. "I'm coming."

|#|+-+-+|#|

Buffy didn't know where they were going. Didn't know how long they'd been driving, or have even the slightest clue as to what time it was. The clock on the dash was definitely broken, and with all of the windows blacked out, all she could see were little slivers of greyish black blurs as they whipped down the highway.

She realized something then. No view of the outside meant no way to see when the sun began peeking its nose over the horizon.

"So you know I don't have a driver's license, right?"

"Didn't exactly have time to go through your wallet before we left, pet," he responded with a smile. "Why do you mention it?"

"Well, it's just… you might want to find somewhere to pull over before the sun comes up." Suddenly she realized how weird this was. Barrelling down the highway with Spike, no destination in mind. Knowing that the next time she fell asleep, it would be in a lumpy bed of questionable cleanliness.

"Why's that?"

She frowned at him. "Um… hello? Did you forget that the warning label on every vampire comes with 'flammable' written in capital letters?"

He just smiled, glancing over at her. "Don't worry, Slayer. I've got it covered. This isn't gonna be my first time driving in the daytime."

"Oh. Um… All right then."

Buffy turned her gaze back to the passenger side window, despite the lack of scenery. She was glad that Spike hadn't made many attempts at small talk so far. Just a few comments here and there, a couple of questions. He wasn't pushing her to talk this out, wasn't demanding that she tell him everything she was thinking and feeling. He hadn't even mentioned the scene in the library earlier that night.

Which was good, because right now, her head was noisy enough without his voice chiming in with the chorus.

All this time, Buffy knew that she had an expiration date stamped on her forehead. Knew that every night she went out to patrol, she might never go home again. Was completely aware that each new demon she faced had the potential to kill her. Except, she'd been doing this for long enough, made it through enough fights, wiggled out of enough tight squeezes, that she was thinking it might still be a long time before Giles had to go and knock on her mother's front door and break the news. It was becoming easier to ignore the 'definitely fatal' disclaimer on her job description.

Walking into the library though, and hearing her Watcher declare her impending death with such confidence and finality… it had almost shattered her. Giles knew _everything_. He was the guy with all of the answers, and when he didn't have the answers, it never took him long to find them. So the fact that he seemed so sure, so filled with terrified certainty… well, it was tough for her to just laugh it off as an inaccuracy in his predictions.

Buffy was going to die. Without question, she would face the Master, and he would be the one to punch the time card of her existence.

There was so much she hadn't done yet. It sounded corny, and clichéd, the sort of line that was said at every funeral for every person whose life was snatched away from them before they reached the age of twenty, but… it was so _true_. So painfully, awfully true.

She would never drive a car, never go to college. Never suffer through the Hellish joy of having roommates, never have an all-night cramming session before a final exam because she'd stayed out partying the night before. Never get married or own a house or have children. Never wear dentures or be able to say 'I remember when I was your age…'

She'd never make love to anyone.

So, yeah. Given the choice between facing down that oncoming demise, and running away like some scaredy cat coward girl, she'd taken this route.

She just… she just _couldn't_ face her own death. Not now. Not yet. Not _willingly_.

It wasn't _fair_ that she even had to make such a decision.

Noticing that the interior of the car was a few shades brighter than it had been a few minutes ago, Buffy again found herself wondering what time it was. Wondering when her Mother would be getting up. What she'd think when she came into her bedroom to find it empty.

She realized she should've left a note. No matter how lame an excuse she gave for her absence, at least then Joyce would know she'd left the house voluntarily. That she hadn't been kidnapped or hurt or… or killed.

She laughed at that. Saw Spike glance at her, but he didn't say anything.

Buffy wouldn't have heard him anyway. Not when thoughts of her mother sent a cold, hard punch into the pit of her gut.

_Mom_…

_Willow, Xander_…

_Giles_…

Their names and faces ricocheted through her mind. Accompanied by that of the Master.

The Master, who was going to rise. Who would decimate Sunnydale, and every last member of its population. Including those people she loved. And the ones she kind of liked. And the ones she hated.

One by one, he would find and murder them all. If it wasn't him, then it would be one of his minions.

Because she wouldn't be there to stop them.

_Oh, God_…

All of those people would perish. Her _own mother_ was going to die because… because she wouldn't be there to protect them.

Somehow, that frightened her even more than the thought of her own death.

Buffy was the Slayer. A warrior. She… she was _destined_ to die at the hand of some monster. But her Mom? Willow… everyone in Sunnydale… when death took them, it was supposed to be when they were old and grey and tucked in their soft, warm beds.

Not… not with the adrenaline of fear pulsating in their veins, an animal unlike one they'd ever encountered at their throats.

_Dammit. God **dammit**. _

How was she supposed to choose? Between her own death and that of every person she knew and loved?

Who was to say they wouldn't die even if she _was_ there? That she wouldn't be the Master's first victim, and that he'd be free to attack them all anyway?

Could… could she do this now? Could she keep running, even knowing the lives she was risking?

What kind of a person would that make her? What kind of person _was_ she?

_I hate this. I hate hate hate it_.

_I can't… I need to… I don't…_

_Mommy._

"Spike?" She spoke around a pound of gravel in her throat. Around a tight, fluttering feeling in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Made her gasp for air even though she was barely moving.

"Mm?"

"I… we need to…" It hurt so much. Took so much effort to say these words. Like pushing a boulder covered in barbed wire up a mountain. She kept going though. Had to get them out before she changed her mind. "I have to-"

For the first time since they'd gotten on the road, Spike became more than just a shadow in the driver's seat. He reached over and snatched her hand out of her lap. Laced his fingers through hers, and squeezed tight.

"I know, pet," he murmured. Without further instruction, he pulled a U-turn after only the slightest effort at slowing down, and headed back towards Sunnydale.

He didn't let go of her for the rest of the drive, and she didn't pull away.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Though she had no concept of how long they'd been driving during their outbound trip, Buffy _knew_ that the drive back couldn't have taken more than a half hour.

"Spike?" she half-whispered, afraid to break the silence between them. "How… how did we get back here so fast?" It probably wasn't important, but she was willing to spend time focusing on the small details. A weak attempt to distract her from the fact that they'd returned so she could be murdered within the next twenty-four hours.

He sighed, picking at something on the steering wheel with his thumbnail. "I knew before we even left that you weren't gonna run away from this. _Really_ run away from it, I mean." He looked at her then, wearing a look that was a mixture of amusement, admiration, fear, and affection. "Figured you just needed some time to suss it out. _And_ that you probably don't know your way around that well, so… mostly drove in a circle."

Buffy looked at him, unsure of whether she should be angry that he would make these sorts of assumptions… deceive her like this… or be touched by the confidence that he apparently had in her.

"But you listen to me, Slayer," he said before she could come to a decision. He slid himself across the bench seat, the hand that was not still linked with hers coming up to cup her cheek. "Know you probably want some time alone, to spend with your Mum… your friends… But you are _not_ facing this thing on your own. Know you're the Chosen One, the one girl in all the world, but… I'm not losing you to that bat-faced lunatic. To _any_ of them. I _won't_. You understand?"

His lips were on hers before she could stop him. Soft and needy and desperate. Stealing gasps out of her mouth and sucking them down into his own lungs.

"Spike…"

"Promise me, Slayer," he urged, lips tickling hers as he spoke. "Promise me that when your Watcher gives you the where and the when, you won't take a step in that direction unless I'm at your side."

Okay, well, he'd officially managed to make her _stop_ thinking about the oncoming death for more than thirty consecutive seconds. Instead she felt like someone who'd suddenly come to the end of a dark tunnel and found themselves bathed in sunlight. A bright glow that was huge and warm and felt so good but was also so _overwhelming_.

Three weeks ago they'd barely been on shaky terms with each other. Still separated by a canyon full of distrust and misunderstandings. Now here he was, saying that he couldn't stand to lose her, that he wouldn't allow her to face this on her own. Pressing his lips to hers in a way that made her almost certain that in the absence of oxygen, it was _love_ he was breathing into her.

…And that was a whole different kind of scary than the one that was already confronting her.

Nodding, she began to pull away, reaching for the latch on the door. Afraid that if she stayed here much longer, she would tell him to start up the engine again and make a _real_ run for it this time. "I… I promise. I will."

Bringing their joined hands to her lips, she glued a soft kiss to his knuckles as she opened the door behind her. "Thank you, Spike."

|#|+-+-+|#|

Buffy had spent the rest of the day in a sort of defiant mourning. Going about her Saturday as though it was one like any other. Eating breakfast with her Mom, skimming over some of her history homework, putting on the dress that Joyce had bought for her. But doing it with the knowledge that they might- probably _would_ –be the last things she ever did.

Then her mother came into her bedroom. A look of panic on her face. Something about a story on the news, followed by Willow's name.

After that, sitting on her best friend's bed while she described the horrors she'd seen at the school, things had become so simple. So clear.

The world… her friends… they needed her to protect them. To stop this. Stop _him_.

Suddenly, she was at peace with the idea of becoming barely more than a footnote in history at the age of sixteen. Because they were worth it.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Although he'd been expecting the knock on his door for a while now, Spike didn't run to open it. He already knew that Buffy wasn't on the other side.

"Oh. It's you," he muttered when he found her male chum instead. Xanadu, was it?

"Mind if I come in?" he asked, but was already standing in the middle of Spike's living room.

"Make yourself at home," Spike answered, strolling inwards to square off with him.

"She's gone."

"What?"

"Buffy. She's gone to fight the Master."

"_What_?" Spike growled this time, blood boiling in his hard, dead veins. "She was supposed to-" he snarled, taking a deep breath as every muscle in his body clenched with frustration. Snatching a crossbow from the set of hooks at his front door, he crashed through it a second later. "Let's go," he barked to the other male.

"Wait… but where are we…"

"To _get_ her, half-wit. Where do you think?"

"Oh, well… I mean, that was kind of the plan, but… I sort of had this speech that I was gonna…" Walking beside him now, the teenager pulled a cross out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand.

Raising an eyebrow, fighting the urge to flinch away from the invisible force field that surrounded the wooden object, Spike snorted. "Yeah. Guessing I'll be real sorry to have missed it. Put that thing away, Shaggy, and just try to keep up."

|#|+-+-+|#|

Spike had been itching to touch her since the moment she was revived in the Master's lair. Unfortunately, in the meantime there had been an apocalypse to avert, and then some victorious partying to do. During the latter, he'd remained more of a spectator. Content to park himself on a stool at the Bronze, anchoring down a table for the rest of the group. All he wanted was to watch his Slayer dance and laugh with her friends. To bask in the fact that the Master was gone, and she was _still alive_.

He and the Watcher, though still somewhat weary of each other, had shared a few long looks of understanding on the matter. Both of them glad that that Giles wasn't _just_ a librarian now.

Spike had to force himself to stay off the dance floor. Keep some distance between himself and the little blonde warrior. He knew that if she let him take her in his arms, he wouldn't let go. Something he wasn't sure she'd appreciate.

When the music finally stopped and the club closed up for the night, Spike followed the lot of them home. Unwilling to leave his Slayer's side until he watched her walk through her front door. They'd stopped first at Xander's house, followed by the redhead's.

Now, he was alone with her. Just him and the Slayer. Few words were exchanged during the remainder of their trip back to 1630 Revello Drive. He asked her if he'd heard Willow correctly; that Buffy would be spending the summer with her father in Los Angeles. She confirmed that yes, he would have to endure two long months in Sunnydale without her.

"Unless you maybe come to visit…" she suggested.

"That a request, love?"

"No," came her coy response. "Just… thinking out loud."

Walking up the path to her front door, Spike felt his stomach clench at the thought of saying good night to her already. "Hold up, Slayer," he said, snagging her wrist and dragging her back to him.

"What is it?" she asked, head tilted back to meet his gaze.

Two fingers guided a few loose tendrils of honey away from her face, while the other traced an invisible pattern on her bare shoulder. "You and I never got to have ourselves a dance."

"Yeah, because you were being Mister Mopey on the sidelines all night."

He grinned. "Got me there. What say we remedy that before the night's over then."

A smile crept across her face, and at an equally languid pace, she circled her arms around his neck. "We don't have any music."

"Sure we do," he said, bringing his hands to rest on her hips. Tuning in to the sounds of insects chirping, of cars rolling down the street, people walking and talking in the distance, he smiled at her. "You just gotta listen for it."

|#|+-+-+|#|

Joyce perked up when she heard laughter bubble in through the front window. Laughter that sounded quite a lot like her daughter. The same one who'd been in a weird sort of fugue for the last couple of days. Barely eating, she'd been drifting through the house like a dust particle; moving wherever the currents took her. The most dramatic facial expression she'd made was the frown she'd worn while twisting the lid off the strawberry jam.

Curious, she turned around on the couch, nudging the curtain out of the way and taking a peek outside.

Buffy was there with the young man she'd brought home weeks ago. William.

Pressed together on the front walkway, they were slow dancing. He was smiling down at her, one hand making a starfish on her lower back. The other was reaching behind him to snag one of hers, which he brought down to his lips for a kiss. The smile reattached itself to his face in the next instant, and he tucked their joined appendages into the space between them.

Feeling as though she was intruding on something private, she chose to let the curtain drop, and turned back to the book she was reading.

Having met the young man only once, she wasn't quite sure how she felt about him. Or about the idea that he and her daughter were at least in the beginning stages of a relationship together. Especially since he obviously had more than a couple of years on her.

Clearly though, they weren't going to do anything scandalous on her front lawn. So Joyce decided to leave them be for another five minutes or so. She didn't want her daughter spending _too_ much time with this boy before she'd had a chance to meet him, but on the other hand… she didn't want to cut short the miniscule measure of happiness she'd managed to achieve in the last couple of days.

|#|+-+-+|#|

Somehow, Spike found a way to pull her even tighter against him. Nose buried in the sunlight of her hair, he drank in a deep gulp of it. Delighted in the shiver that went through him, in having yet another of his senses confirm to him that _yes_, she was here. In his arms. Warm.

Alive.

"What made you do it, Slayer?" he whispered into her, the question suddenly bubbling up in his mind. Buffy pulled away to look up at him. His brows knit together, but he ordered them back into their neutral stance. He didn't want her to feel like was accusing her of anything. "You promised me…"

"Because you _told_ me to promise," she said, voice equally hushed. A frown hung from her forehead as she appeared deep in thought. "And I meant it when I said it, but…" She fell into silence for another moment. Breath puffing out of her in a sharp exhalation, she glanced up at him with an equally serrated gaze. "Spike, you can't be angry at me for doing this alone. You get that I'm the _Slayer_, right? That I'm _supposed to-_"

"I do. I do, pet. And I'm not angry. Can't be angry when I've got you…" he laughed, stopping his little stream of poncy talk before it got any further. "It's just…" he was cupping her cheek now, thumb stroking over the crest of the soft mound. "Guess I don't understand why you'd want to go in there without backup. When it was _written_ that you'd…" He couldn't say it. Even with her standing here, prophecy thwarted, he couldn't give life to the idea of her death.

"I don't know how to explain it," she finally answered with a shake of her head. "I even thought about going to get you, but…" Again she got that faraway look in her eyes. "Look, could we just… not talk about it right now? Could we… with the dancing?" Her eyebrows went up, smile appearing below them in a look of hope.

A big part of him wanted to deny her request, to continue arguing the point. Really though, she didn't owe him anything. Didn't owe him the chance to fight at her side, didn't owe him an explanation for not giving him that chance.

Besides, he wasn't exactly _hating_ this.

So Spike nodded, pulling her to him again. "Of course, love." He rested his cheek against the crown of her head. Sighed with contentment at the feel of her nose tucked into the hollow of his throat. "Just don't know what I would've done if you'd…" The words escaped before he had a chance to run them through his mental proof-reader.

Her sharp intake of breath, followed by the shudder that rippled through her indicated that perhaps it wasn't his wisest statement of the evening. He squeezed her tighter. "Sorry, sweet. Shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it's okay," she whispered against him with a small shake of her head, fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. "I guess, it all just happened so fast. It still doesn't feel real."

"Yeah," he murmured, not knowing what else to say. Although he had experience in the _being dead_ arena, it was the part where she'd come back to life after the fact that he couldn't identify with.

"Wow," she laughed a moment later, looking up at him with. "Don't tell me I've rendered Mister Motor Mouth speechless. Should I be calling the _Sunnydale_ _Times_?"

"Quiet, you." He poked her in the ribs. Buffy giggled, the sound like music as it bounced against his eardrums. "So," he said, a little more serious, teeth folding over his lower lip. "Think you might be willing to give us a kiss before you turn in?"

"It's possible." Although it was mostly of a playful nature, there _was_ some genuine hesitation in her eyes. "Maybe if you ask really, _really_-"

"Buffy?" Joyce's voice sliced through them like a cold November wind. She was standing on the top step of the porch, arms crossed.

The blonde turned in his arms. "Hey, Mom."

"Hello, William," Joyce greeted him next, her voice pleasant except for the lioness creeping around its edges.

"Mrs. Summers. Nice to see you again."

"Mm. How was the dance?"

"It was great. Very dancey."

"It must've ended pretty late for you to just be getting home now."

"Oh, well actually, it was over…" Catching on to the hinting tone in her mother's voice, Buffy stopped to make a quick recovery. "I'll, uh… I'll be in in a minute."

Joyce nodded. "I'll set the timer. Good night, William."

"G'night," he returned the nod, starting to realize that despite Joyce's gracious demeanour during their first meeting, Buffy certainly hadn't sprouted that ferocity of hers out of nothing. Definitely genetic.

"Well, that was… awkward," the blonde laughed once her mother had disappeared, speaking lowly since she'd left the front door open.

"Yeah," he chuckled with her. "Glad I get to head off in the opposite direction."

Buffy sighed, offering him a wry smile. "So… I guess… I'll see you around?"

"I can guarantee it." Before she could walk away, he pulled her close again, pressing his lips to her forehead. Wouldn't feel right doing anything more with her mother no doubt watching from the crow's nest, but he wanted her to be the last thing on his lips that evening.

"Good night, Spike." She squeezed his hands in hers. "William."

A little bit ashamed of the way his heart tittered at the sound of his given name on her lips, he ducked his head. "Good night Buffy."

She was halfway up the steps when he called out to her again. "Oh, and love? The dress… bloody gorgeous."

Glancing down at it, she grinned at him. "Yeah. Thanks." She tugged at the skirt with two fingers. "It was a big hit with everyone."


End file.
